


Heart Lines

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Character, Asexual Merlin, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Gen, Good morgana, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: Everyone is born with a heart line, a pigmented mark running from the heart down the left arm to the palm, which turns color when the person comes of age, telling them when it is time to seek their soulmate. Red indicates a romantic love, while blue is for platonic "heart-friends", as the minstrels called it.Uther had always told Arthur to ignore his heart line, that it wouldn't matter who his soulmate was; princes did not marry for love, after all. If was lucky, he'd be able to keep her as a mistress, so long as he did not get any children with her. Uther hated magic and would have urged Arthur to ignore the heart line anyway, if he could.Arthur wasn't sure his soulmate was really a woman despite Uther's assumptions. But Arthur's heart line hadn't even come into its full color yet, which meant he hadn't come of age in the eyes of the gods, despite being named crown prince by Uther. So itreallydidn't matter: whoever his soulmate was, he wasn't yet ready to meet them.Then one day his heart line comes in, and it's neither red nor blue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shi_Toyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/gifts).



> Welcome to my AU! Here are some assumptions to just go with:
> 
> Set around the time of the attack of the Knights of Medhir; Morgana is good and when she realized that Morgause was using her, willingly took the poison from Merlin rather than being betrayed and tricked into it.
> 
> All the Knights of the Round Table are there, because I dunno, maybe the Knights of Medhir were a bigger threat and Arthur recruited them earlier? Like I said, just go with it, this is an AU and I like Lancelot and the others too much to leave them out.
> 
> Soulmates are a thing, obviously.
> 
> Merlin is on the asexual spectrum, but not aromantic. I'll be writing from my own experiences as a person on the ace spectrum. 
> 
> My first attempt at a soulmate AU. I just couldn't resist the trope any longer. Enjoy!

Arthur was pacing back and forth in Morgana's chambers, hands tearing at his hair so that he wouldn't strangle the woman currently recovering in her bed from having bloody _poisoned herself_ to stop a spell that had been ravaging Camelot.

"How could you possibly have thought this was a good idea?!" he seethed, because gritting the words out through clenched teeth was better than shouting them at the top of his lungs. It had to be.

"It was Merlin who figured it out," said Morgana weakly. "That Morgause had done something to me. Made me the focus of her spell. If I died, the spell would be broken. Camelot would be safe."

"And you'd be _dead_!"

"That didn't happen, Arthur." Morgana, still recovering as she was, still managed to gesture imperiously. "Sit, brother. You are making me dizzy with your incessant pacing."

Arthur wouldn't ordinarily have done her bidding, just for form's sake, but she had nearly died. He sat. "Why did you listen to _Merlin_ , of all people?"

"Because he was right," she said simply. "I was the only person not falling asleep, and the Knights of Medhir were coming. You couldn't have made it out of the city alive."

"So you took _hemlock_?" It was nearly enough to make him jump up and start pacing again, but Morgana put a hand on his arm and he subsided. "What is it about the people around me that moves them all to take poison at the drop of a hat?"

"I was hoping to save my soulmate," she said sadly, and Arthur just stared at her. Morgana turned her left hand so he could see, and sure enough, the heart line there on her palm had turned red.

"Morgana," said Arthur, eyes wide. "When—?"

"I think right at the same time as I took the poison," she said. "I don't know if they're in Camelot or not, but Merlin pointed out that I couldn't take the risk. Whoever it was, they deserved to live."

Arthur looked down at his own palm, where the heart line that ran up the inside of his wrist, all the way to his heart, was still only the brown of any of his freckles or moles.

"Don't fret," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not. "You'll be ready soon. I know you will."

"This isn't about me," he said, and she smiled.

"That's how I know you'll be ready soon. You're not as self-centered as you used to be. The honorable man inside you… you let him show a little more every day. You'll be a better king than Uther ever was."

"Do you really hate Father so much?" he asked.

Morgana's smile vanished. "I thought Morgause was helping me," she said. "I thought she was the only one who understood, and for all I know she still is. You know Uther wouldn't hesitate to tie me to the stake with his own hands if he ever discovered what I am."

"They're only dreams, 'Gana—"

"They're not." She shook her head, sad and weary and sick, still recovering from a near-fatal dose of poison. "You know they're not. You just don't want to see."

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the pain away. It was true, he didn't want to see it. His own sister—revealed to be so by Morgause herself—had magic. "What are we going to do?"

Morgana squeezed his hand and let her eyes fall shut. "I think, my brother, that that is up to you."

* * *

 

"Will she recover?"

"She will, sire," said Gaius. "Merlin had the antidote ready to hand."

"And my father?"

"He has already awakened once, and should be completely back to normal by morning. Everyone else I have seen to has been recovering similarly quickly."

Arthur nodded, glancing toward the window. It was well after midnight, and there was nothing to see but the reflected torchlight from indoors. He was still exhausted himself from the magical illness that had taken over, but his work was not yet done. "How did Morgause die?" he asked.

Gaius tilted his head in thought. "It was a broken neck, sire, but as for how that occurred… I'm afraid I cannot say for certain. It would _appear_ that after Morgana took the poison, and the spell broke, the Knights of Medhir turned on her before collapsing themselves." He shook his head emphatically, raising one eyebrow as he met the prince's gaze. "But this is only speculation, sire. There were none to witness the event."

"None save Merlin and Morgana," corrected Arthur.

"Neither of them claims to remember a thing," said Gaius. "I suspect that Morgana had already succumbed to the poison, and Merlin would have been too occupied with tending to her to really notice anything else that happened."

Arthur sighed. "Of course." He glanced down the corridor. "Where is my wayward manservant, anyway?"

"I believe he is preparing your chamber so that you may go to sleep, sire. Which I heartily recommend you do. You were just as ill as anyone else in the citadel, but unlike them you have not yet had any rest to speak of."

Arthur took the hint, and his leave.

* * *

 

They burned Morgause's body the next day. Uther had not wanted to give her any honors, but Morgana had demanded them as her half-sister, and Uther was relieved enough to have her back and still alive that he acquiesced.

Arthur stood watch, the smoke stinging his eyes whenever the wind blew in the wrong direction.

"We'll take her ashes to the Isle of the Blessed," he told Morgana later. "She told us that she was a priestess of the Old Religion, and Gaius says that the Isle was the heart of their power. Father may not care about such things, but I would rather not have ill luck brought down on Camelot because we failed to honor her properly." He hid a shudder, remembering the unicorn. There were things he had no interest in seeing revisited upon his future kingdom.

"I wish I could come with you," said Morgana.

"You're still recovering," protested Arthur, and his sister smiled.

"And you want to be away from the palace with your knights, hunting rabbits and forgetting all this nonsense for a while."

"I suppose that is true, too," he said.

"Besides, you'll need to think about your soulmate now, too," she added with a smirk. Arthur frowned at her, but Morgana only glanced pointedly at his left hand. The palm tingled as she did, but that was probably only sweat trickling inside his gloves.

Back in his chambers, he pulled the gloves off, then scowled at himself for having gotten his hopes up. The heart line was still as dull brown as it had always been, blending in with his skin like a line of old dirt. He fingered the spot over his heart where he knew the heart line ended in a spidery burst of pigment, reminiscent of veins but not in any particular shape. Some people, once their heart lines came in fully, had a destiny mark there—supposedly a sign that told a person a little bit about their soulmate, or, depending on who one talked to, possibly an indicator that he and his soulmate would accomplish great things together—but Arthur had seen no indication that he would develop one.

Not that it mattered, anyway. He'd heard the lecture from Uther many times before: Commoners could marry how they pleased, could attend bonfire dances and look for their soulmate anywhere they wished; lesser nobility could afford the occasional scandalous marriage with someone below their rank; but Arthur was royalty and could not expect to marry for love. If he was fortunate, Uther would say, he could keep his soulmate as a mistress, so long as he did not get any bastard children on her and muddle the line of succession.

"But Mother was your soulmate," Arthur had had the audacity to say, exactly once. He'd been perhaps twelve or thirteen at the time.

"And when I lost her it nearly destroyed me," Uther had retorted, shoving his sleeve back to show his son the tarnished black heart line running up his arm. His tone had gentled, though his face had still shown the lingering ache, over a dozen years after Ygraine's death. "I would spare you that pain, my son. You would be better off ignoring your heart line entirely, and preparing yourself to marry for the good of the kingdom."

Arthur sighed at the memory and dropped his hand, smoothing his tunic back into place and tugging the laces tight. Uther was probably right. It would do no good to dwell on who his soulmate might be when he could never have her. And in any case, his heart line had yet to come in. Either she hadn't been born yet, or the gods didn't consider him to be ready for her, whoever she was. It didn't matter that Uther himself had ignored the heart line's dull brown color, naming him crown prince anyway when he'd turned twenty-one; Arthur knew that he was not yet ready, either for his soulmate or to become king. Regardless of what Morgana thought, only the gods could reveal when that day might come.

* * *

 

Still, it was hard to ignore his heart line, or anyone else's, now that Morgana had put the thought into his head. As Arthur strolled the market with Merlin, looking for a present for his sister, it seemed as though every third person was showing off his or her heart line to someone. There were merchants sealing their contracts with a quick left-handed shake, looking for that flash of feeling that told them their partners were trustworthy, when the two heart lines connected briefly. On one corner, a bunch of giggling girls surrounded one of their friends, who was shaking hands with an entire row of boys to see if any of them were a match. Under an awning, a little ways back for privacy, a couple were kissing, clasping hands between them as their heart lines flared silver.

It was a warm day, so short sleeves were everywhere and the heart lines seemed to catch Arthur's eye no matter where he looked. Red, he saw in plenty; there was no shortage of blue, though certainly there were fewer of them than the red; he even saw one or two tarnished black lines, on people who did not seem quite so caught up in all the handshaking business. But of silver, he'd noticed only the kissing couple under the awning. Even for commoners, it seemed, actually finding one's soulmate was something of a rarity. A miracle.

 _Magic?_ Arthur wondered, then shook the thought out of his head. Uther probably thought so, but there was nothing he could do about it. The king hated magic—everyone knew that—and he saw it everywhere. If he could have erased every trace of the old gods' influence on humanity, including the heart lines, he would have.

"Does everyone in Camelot do that?" asked Merlin, nodding toward the gaggle of young people on the corner.

"What, test their heart lines together? Some do, I suppose. Why?"

"They just seem awfully… brazen about it," said Merlin, wrinkling his nose. "I mean, if they're total strangers, and all taking hands for the first time."

"No, no one is that bold," said Arthur. "I'm sure they're just testing to see who is going to be compatible together. Good friends, that sort of thing."

"Yeah, maybe." He scratched his nose. "Like when your father demanded I give him my hand before making me your manservant."

"I'm surprised he wasn't able to tell then and there what an idiot you would turn out to be."

"You're hilarious, as always, sire," said Merlin. "Gwen told me Morgana's heart line came in the other night."

" _That_ is none of your business, _Merlin_ ," said Arthur with a glare.

"What, I wasn't trying to pry. Just thinking that she did something really brave, you know. Taking poison like that, to stop the spell. Something like that must have changed her on a deep level, 'cause now she's ready to meet her soulmate." He had a wistful little smile on his face, and it irritated Arthur to no end.

"And I'm still not, is that it?"

But Merlin didn't rise to his baiting. "Pssh. You will be. Maybe it's just your soulmate isn't ready for you."

And that shouldn't have helped Arthur to feel better, but it did. "Yes, well, you've never told me anything about _your_ heart line."

"Because it's none of your business, like you said."

"I'm the crown prince, Merlin, everything is my business if I wish it so."

Merlin curled his left hand into a fist and tucked it behind his back. "Not so funny anymore, sire."

Arthur studied his face, but Merlin only looked deeply uncomfortable. He supposed the topic really wasn't something to just be making jokes about, or perhaps they were treated differently among the country folk. "What's the matter?"

Merlin looked at him incredulously. "You don't just make jokes about heart lines, Arthur! Look, Morgana told me once that Uther doesn't like them—"

"Be careful, Merlin—"

"—and I know to you maybe they aren't any big deal because that's what you were taught, but for the rest of us, meeting our soulmate is something that's kind of important. It's not… you don't just… _joke_ about it like that. It's like mocking someone's first kiss, or, or love in general. You just don't _do_ that."

They walked in silence for a while, before spotting a jeweler with various pieces out on display. Arthur took a few minutes to look over the wares, and tease Merlin about modeling the earrings he thought Morgana might like, and to pay for a matching necklace.

They were on their way back to the palace before Arthur said, quietly, "I'm sorry." Hoping Merlin wouldn't make him repeat himself.

"'S okay," said the other man.

"Father always taught me that it wouldn't matter who my soulmate was, because I wouldn't be able to be with her anyway."

Merlin nearly stopped in his tracks, staring at Arthur, but when the prince kept walking he nearly tripped over himself to catch up. "That's terrible."

Arthur shrugged. "It's the truth. Princes can't afford to marry for love. It's all alliance and politics and whatnot."

"Whatnot," muttered Merlin. "More and more, I think that the nobler your blood, the madder you lot must be."

Arthur couldn't help the grin. "As if you were any saner."

"Not after putting up with the likes of you, I'm not." They trudged a few more steps up the road. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"I don't," said Arthur. "I just always think of her—them—that way. Maybe if my heart line ever comes in I'll get a better idea of who it is."

"Yeah, maybe. Pretty sure mine's a man," Merlin offered.

"Really?"

Merlin just shrugged. "Think so. Sometimes I feel what they're feeling, and it doesn't seem very… girly. S'pose I could be wrong, though—oi!"

Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin's left hand, turning it palm up. Merlin snatched his hand back with a glare before Arthur could even get a good look at what color it was, but sure enough, there was a dark line running from the crease of his palm all the way up his wrist, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. Arthur had to bite back the disappointment at the thought that even his idiot manservant's heart line had come in before his.

"Do you _mind_ , you royal prat?"

"How long have you had that?"

"For months! Not that it's _any_ of your business."

"And you can really feel things? That part's true?"

" _Yeah_ , I can feel things. Sometimes. It's just vague and I think they have to be really strong emotions, though, or it doesn't come through. It's not like being able to read someone's mind or any of the rot the minstrels like to sing about."

"What are you feeling right now?"

" _Irritation_."

"Very funny."

"Well if someone wouldn't keep grabbing at me like that… next thing you'll be asking to see if I have a destiny mark or, or telling me to prance naked about the training grounds!"

"That could be arranged."

"I'd sack myself first."

Arthur huffed. This wasn't what he wanted to be talking about anyway. "You said it was only vague?"

Merlin watched him warily. "Yeah, mostly."

The prince hummed in thought. "Maybe that's because you haven't found them yet." Arthur stopped, thinking what it might be like if Merlin found his soulmate. "You… _haven't_ found them yet, right?"

Merlin stopped too, and looked at him, and Arthur thought he saw sadness behind the other man's eyes, before it was covered up by something he couldn't read. "No, we haven't found each other quite yet." He smiled, but to Arthur it seemed a little forced. "'Course, Camelot's a big city. Could be anyone."


	2. Chapter 2

After that conversation, Merlin took to wearing fingerless gloves; he claimed it was to help prevent blisters while doing Arthur's endless list of chores, but Arthur suspected it was more about covering his heart line so that people—Arthur—wouldn't pester him about it. Some people did that, but as far as Arthur knew it was more of a country peasant custom, which folks in Camelot didn't bother with. Well, but Merlin _was_ a country peasant, wasn't he? Even if he had lived in Camelot for a couple of years now.

Arthur tried to pretend he wasn't disappointed. Merlin's heart line really wasn't any of Arthur's business, anyway; Arthur would never admit it to him, of course, but Merlin was right about that much. He was right about a lot of things that Arthur would never admit to, really.

Even so, most people in Camelot didn't bother to hide their heart lines, whether they'd come in or not. Merlin was something of an exception to the rule… although, now that he thought about it, so was Arthur. It had been something of a scandal that Uther had declared his son to be "of age" and named him crown prince, ignoring the fact that his heart line had not come in. As a result, Arthur sometimes overheard public speculation over his heart line—when or if it had come in, what color it might be, whether he already had a soulmate and was just keeping it quiet to avoid a scandal, and on and on—and he'd sometimes found people staring at his hand rather than his face when he spoke to them, or surreptitiously glancing down in an effort to spot any color on his arm. Arthur hadn't really realized it until Merlin started doing it too, but between the long-sleeved tunics he wore, his armor, and his gauntlets, he'd been hiding his heart line for quite some time now, too.

It was a blessing and a relief, then, that his knights never made a grand spectacle out of any of it. They knew Arthur and trusted his leadership, even if his heart line hadn't come into its full color yet. They fought together, trained together, played together, and sometimes even bathed together when they were out away from the city. He'd seen all their lines, and they'd seen his, and apart from some teasing, it mostly didn't matter between them.

Even so, Arthur knew that he was the only full knight not to have a mature heart line. He was blooded, Camelot's finest warrior, a leader of men, yet he couldn't help but wonder just what it was going to take for him to be ready to meet his soulmate.

* * *

 

It took several days for Camelot to settle down after Morgause's attack, and for Arthur to get his father's approval to travel to the Isle of the Blessed, but finally Uther gave his permission. The delivery of a dead woman's ashes to a place of magic was something of a low priority as far as he was concerned, and that was putting it mildly. "Incorporate the destination into your patrol of the borders," he ordered. "You'll get there when it is convenient, and return in the same fashion."

"Of course, Father." Uther's command meant that a three-day round trip to the Isle and back had just become a two-week journey, and there would be visits to area villages and hunts for bandit gangs and highwaymen along the way. Arthur hid his sigh. It wasn't that he disliked patrols, but he hadn't wanted to be away from Morgana for so long while she was recovering from her self-poisoning. She still wasn't over her hatred of Uther, and Arthur feared how they would interact: the king wanting to do everything possible to show his ward—his daughter—that he cared, the daughter herself wanting nothing to do with him or anything he stood for.

In any case, if he was going to be gone for that long, Arthur decided he would exercise his royal prerogative and take along only those knights he got along with best.

So it was Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan, Pervical, Leon, Merlin, and Arthur who set out. The day was fine, if a bit overcast, but that just meant that the sun would not bake them in their armor before they'd gotten an hour down the road. Arthur wholeheartedly approved.

* * *

 

Arthur should have known better than to expect an uneventful trip. It was only the second day, and they were just emerging from the forest and into the fields surrounding Helmsford, when they heard shouts and a woman's scream. Spurring their horses to a gallop, Arthur and his men raced into the village, pulling up short at what they found.

The villagers had formed nothing less than a howling mob, and were throwing stones at an old woman, who was trying to get away but was hemmed in by the crowd. As Arthur watched, they shoved her to the ground, where she cowered with her arms over her head.

"Enough!" Arthur roared into action, drawing his sword and barreling through the crowd until he was as close to the woman as he could get without trampling her. Around him, the knights had surrounded the crowd, and Merlin was already dismounting to come to the woman's aid. "Enough!" he said again. "What madness is this? What are you doing?"

"She's a witch!" spat one of the men, half out of his mind with rage, by Arthur's reckoning. His face was red and he was shaking, a stone held in his hand that only Arthur's presence was keeping him from throwing at the woman. "She's a witch and my wife is dead and it's her fault!"

"She was too young for the birth!" cried the woman; a few of the other women in the crowd spoke up, actually agreeing with her. "I did everything I could."

"Don't deny you have magic, old hag," said another man. "We all know what you've done."

The old woman—the witch?—struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on Merlin. Her forehead was bleeding and one eye was swollen shut. "Aye," she said tiredly. "You know what I've done. Help your crops to grow and bring luck to your children, for decades. For _decades_ I've done nothing but help this village and all the people in it, and you know it. But one woman dies despite all my aid, and suddenly you all forget. Suddenly I am 'the witch', and not the midwife. Not the wise woman. Suddenly I see what you have truly thought of me, all these years." She held herself tall and with dignity, but tears spilled over her cheeks. "I thought I had friends here, but all along you were only using my gifts and waiting for the day you could repay me with this."

A witch. Arthur's heart sank. There was only one punishment for sorcery in Camelot, and all knew it.

"Arthur," said Merlin, as if reading his thoughts. "Arthur, you can't."

"Not now, Merlin," he said faintly, staring at the old woman and trying to come up with something, anything, that would not end in a death this day.

"Arthur—"

"I said not now." He raised his voice, and looked around him at the crowd. "I am Arthur Pendragon," he said, and watched as the people drew back. Several knelt, while others bowed or curtseyed, and many looked as though they were only now coming to their senses from the madness of the mob. "Who is the headman here?"

"I am," called a portly older man, off to one side of the crowd. "I am called Liet, my lord."

Arthur nodded. "Let every man and woman who has interest in this affair convene at Liet's house. The rest of you, return to your homes or your fields."

"We all have interest, my lord," said the man who had called her a hag. "She's bewitched the entire village."

"Nonsense," sniffed the woman. "I know you, Jehan. You would rather blame a curse than your own laziness for every unhappy thing to befall you."

Jehan started forward, as did the man who had claimed his wife was dead, but the knights stepped in front of them both and they stopped. "Enough," said Arthur. "I want an accuser, an accused, and any witnesses who are willing to speak either against this woman _or_ in her defense, to convene at Liet's house. The rest of you, disperse. Mobs are illegal in this kingdom, and I can have every last one of you punished for trying to stone this woman to death without a proper trial."

"Witches need no trial," muttered someone, and Arthur whirled his horse to glare at them.

"The last I checked, my father was king of Camelot, and not any of you," he said. "You do not determine the law, and the law does not change simply because you wish it so." He looked around him, satisfied at the silence. "Now, for the last time: _disperse._ "

The crowd gradually dissolved, the people gathering into little knots to whisper together as they went. A few women were stalking up to their men and yanking on their arms, while a few others were standing off to one side, arms folded, looking down their noses at the entire affair. Men gathered around Jehan and began talking him down, before he spat on the ground and stomped away.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked the woman.

"Agnes, sire," she said. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer beheading over the pyre."

Arthur resisted the urge to swallow down bile at the thought of presiding over his first execution, and prayed it would not come to that.

* * *

 

"I am the village midwife," Agnes said, sitting at the table in Liet's cottage. "Healer, herb woman, adviser to the lovelorn… call it what you will. And yes, I confess I have magic, sire."

"You claimed earlier that you used your… 'gift'… and the villagers knew about it," said Arthur. If true, then the entire village was guilty of aiding and abetting sorcery.

"Of course they knew. I have used my magic to help crops grow, to prevent the blight. I have healed injured farm animals, and blessed marriages. And I have delivered over eighty infants into the world, without a single death of either mother or child, until today." Agnes took a sip of the tea that Liet had offered them all. "And I have done so at the specific request of every single one of the people of Helmsford, and I've done it for longer than you have been alive, if I may say so, sire. Longer than the king's ban on sorcery has existed."

"If you know about the ban, then why did you not stop?"

"Because the ban is against sorcery, sire, and I didn't consider what I do to _be_ sorcery. Hedge witchery, yes. But spells and curses and enchantments, all those shenanigans? I have never had the strength of magic to perform anything like that. The most I've ever been able to do is scry for a sense of the future, now and again. Don't know how successful that was, even. And anyway, it goes against the Old Ways to harm others with the gifts given by the Triple Goddess."

Arthur had no way to know whether or not that was true, but if the druids were any example, then perhaps Agnes was not lying. "What happened today?" he asked.

Agnes sighed, and reached up to touch the cut on her forehead. Merlin handed her a poultice he'd been preparing, and she took it with a little nod. "Birgitte was too young to be with child. You men may not understand this, but the younger a bride, the greater the risk when it comes time for the birthing. Older women simply fare better. Their bodies are not so delicate. You can ask any midwife in any village, and they will tell you the same."

"Go on."

"I warned Birgitte that she was too young, that there would be complications—and there were, almost from the start. She was ill throughout her pregnancy. I offered her herbs, early on, to end it, but she wouldn't hear of it. Only grew sicker, and yet happier, with every passing day." Agnes sighed again. "She was so hopeful that she would bear a son and her husband would be pleased." She shut her eyes, and dropped her hand to the table. The poultice was stained with her blood. "Instead she went into labor a month early, and bled and bled no matter what I did to stop it. There was nothing I could do," she finished, shaking her head sadly. "And I tried everything."

* * *

 

"She has magic, and has admitted it out of her own mouth," said Jehan. "Now a woman is dead because of her."

* * *

"Jehan dislikes her because she has turned down his requests for help in the past," said a housewife. Her hands were shaking, and she was surrounded by five other women as she gave her testimony. "Agnes is right: he is lazy. He would rather have magic solve his problems than to get off his—ahem. Pardon me, my lord. He would rather have magic solve his problems, than to do any work of his own."

"Jehan claimed that the woman, Birgitte, was dead because of Agnes," tried Arthur, and the housewife actually snorted. The women around her rolled their eyes, or crossed their arms, and two or three shook their heads.

"Birgitte was too young to be with child. She was not yet sixteen, sire. Her husband may be her soulmate, but he was and is a fool. If anything, her death is his fault, since he's the one who got her with child."

"He's her soulmate?"

"Aye, my lord," said another of the women. "As soon as they met, their heart lines turned silver, my lord, and Gawant pushed her into marriage within the month. He would not hear of waiting to start a family, my lord. He had his soulmate, and that was all that mattered to him."

"They barely knew each other," said another of the women, quietly. "And now she is dead."

Arthur took a deep breath, willing it not to shake. "What of the babe?"

"I mean no offense, my lord, but you are the first _man_ to ask after it," said the first housewife. "A girl. Small, but healthy. Even Gawant has not asked to see his own daughter. He is too distraught over the loss of Birgitte."

"Too caught up in blaming Agnes," muttered one of them, and they all nodded in unison.

"None of you sees the fault in Agnes's actions?" pressed Arthur.

"There was no fault in what she did," said a third woman. "I was there, my lord, to assist with Birgitte's birth. Agnes did everything she could. But sometimes…" she shrugged helplessly. "Sometimes a woman's fate is to die in childbed."

"She's birthed all our babes with us, my lord," said the first housewife, a little more boldly now. "Spoken charms to help with the pain, prayed blessings over us and our children. If it were not for her, probably half of our children would not be here today." The women all nodded, emphatically, and the housewife went on. "The only women in Helmsford who would dare to blame Agnes for what happened are those who are barren, and have never had children of their own."

Arthur thought for a moment, trying to see if there was anything he was missing. "What will become of the daughter?" he asked finally.

"Birgitte's last wish was to name her Elaine," said one of the women. "We've already found a wet nurse for her. If Gawant wants anything to do with her, he'll have to step forward in the next seven days. Otherwise he forfeits her care, and she'll be raised as an orphan."

* * *

 

Gawant, when they finally brought him in to testify, looked… gutted. His expression was hollow, and he kept rubbing at the heart line on his arm. As Arthur questioned him, he watched the silver fade and tarnish, so quickly that it was already mostly black by the time they were finished.

"Birgitte is—was—my soulmate," he said. His earlier rage was gone, and now he seemed to be a broken shell of a man. "My soulmate. She's gone. I can't feel her anymore. She's gone."

"I am told you have a daughter, despite your loss," said Arthur carefully.

"A daughter," said Gawant. For a second, Arthur thought there was a little more animation to his expression, then it fell away again. "I had hoped for a son."

Arthur shuddered. "Do you blame Agnes for the death of your wife?"

"My soulmate. She was my soulmate."

"I understand," said Arthur. "But do you blame Agnes?"

"Who else could be at fault?" asked Gawant. "She spoke against us from the beginning. Who would speak against soulmates? We were meant to be together. We were meant to be a family. That _witch_ ," he said, his voice growing hard for only a moment, "spoke against us. Said Birgitte was too young. How could she be too young? We were soulmates."

"Perhaps she only wanted you to wait to start your family," said Arthur.

"Don't you take the witch's side," said Gawant. "Don't let her bewitch you like that. She spoke against our marriage, tried to convince Birgitte to end the pregnancy, and Birgitte was always sick. Sick because of Agnes. Because of the witch. Agnes wanted her sick."

Arthur sighed. "I am sorry for your loss," he said.

Gawant nodded, then shook his head. "She was my _soulmate_ ," he whispered, and broke down weeping, there in front of Arthur and all his knights.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday, here's a chapter. I hope you all like it.

"Arthur," Merlin was saying, "you can't execute her."

"I don't want to hear it."

"But she hasn't done anything wrong!"

Arthur rounded on his servant and nearly shoved him back when he saw how close Merlin was standing. "I said I don't want to hear it, now shut up!"

"Arthur," Merlin began, but subsided with only a disappointed expression on his face. He shook his head and turned away, as if already expecting the worst from Arthur. He tried to ignore how much that stung.

"I'm not my father," said Arthur quietly. "I'm not going to burn her for something that wasn't her fault. But she confesses to having magic. To being a sorcerer, no matter what she calls it. And there _have_ to be consequences for that."

"They have to be consequences you can live with, though, sire."

"I know." Arthur sighed, and dragged his hands through his hair. "Leave me." The rest of the knights had already filed out of Liet's house, along with the witnesses, Gawant, and Agnes, and were keeping order while Arthur deliberated. Only Merlin had stayed behind, of course. Arthur looked up to see that his servant hadn't budged. "I said leave me. I need to think."

Merlin pressed his lips together into a thin line, then nodded. "You're not your father," he said quietly, "and that's why I follow you."

Once he was gone, Arthur shut his eyes and sighed. _No pressure,_ he thought; _it's only the respect of the entire kingdom on the line._ And if he was thinking mainly of the respect of one man, well, that was no one's business but his own.

* * *

 

"The midwife, Agnes of Helmsford, was charged with the murder of Birgitte of Helmsford, wife of Gawant. Of this charge, I find her not guilty." A sigh of relief ran through the crowd gathered in the village square. "However, Agnes has also confessed to having and using magic, which the entire village knew of and did nothing to stop. Therefore, the people of Helmsford are all found guilty of aiding and abetting a sorcerer, for the past twenty-one years."

The silence in the square was absolute.

"It is clear that Agnes did not act out of malice, and in fact did everything she could to save Birgitte's life. However, you, the people of Helmsford, were perfectly willing to make use of Agnes's services for as long as she pleased you, only to turn on her the moment something went wrong, whether you had proof of her wrongdoing or not. You assumed the law would be on your side no matter what you did, and that Agnes would not be protected because she has magic. You were perfectly willing to form a mob and stone to death a woman who had done everything in her power to save the life of another. You don't deserve to keep someone like Agnes, magic or no magic." Arthur licked his lips, then took a deep breath and announced his decision. "In consideration of these facts, it is my judgment that Agnes of Helmsford shall be banished from Camelot. Helmsford will do without a midwife for a period of three years, or until such time as a new midwife can be found who will be willing to serve you, whichever period is greater. I and my knights will escort Agnes to the borders of the kingdom, whence she will depart to live out the remainder of her days as fate wills."

The women of the village gasped, several clasping their hands over their mouths or moving closer together. The men looked no happier, and a murmur swept the crowd. Arthur lifted one hand, and silence fell once more.

"One last matter: Jehan of Helmsford is also found guilty of bearing false witness against his neighbor, motivated by a grudge and a malicious nature, and is therefore sentenced to three days in the village stocks, the nights to be spent shackled in Headman Liet's root cellar and given only bread and water, after which time he is free to go."

* * *

 

"Satisfied, Merlin?" asked Arthur, watching the other man saddle their horses. He was careful to keep his tone lazy-sounding and bored, refusing to give away how much Merlin's opinion might mean to him.

"I think you had a difficult decision to make, and you made it to the best of your ability," said Merlin. He didn't face Arthur to speak (typical), but at least he glanced over his shoulder as he hoisted the next saddle into place.

"What you said, earlier…" Arthur trailed off, unsure how to ask what he really wanted to know.

"You're not your father, Arthur," said Merlin. "If you were, Agnes would be dead already." His expression darkened for a moment, and he muttered, "And the village probably set on fire or something," low enough that Arthur was sure he wasn't meant to hear it.

"No, the village would be facing a stiff fine, something like double the usual taxes for the next twenty years, one year for each that they'd let Agnes live here," said Arthur. "And the headman would probably be replaced with someone more obedient to the wishes of the crown."

They turned at a noise behind them, and saw Leon leading a donkey toward them, and a small one at that, with Agnes sitting primly on its back. Behind her were several bundles and a pair of enormous baskets, stuffed to the brim with what were likely all her worldly possessions.

Arthur sighed. "At least we weren't in a hurry to get to the Isle of the Blessed."

As he watched, a young woman with a toddler on her hip came up to them and kissed Agnes on the cheek, before tucking what looked like a loaf of bread into one of the baskets.

"I know I'm just a servant," said Merlin quietly, coming up behind Arthur, "but I think you made the right choice. I'm glad Agnes isn't going to be killed. I just wish…"

"What?"

"Well, the women of Helmsford weren't part of the mob, for the most part, and they're the ones who need Agnes most. Your decision punishes the women for the actions of the men."

"And what would you have done?" asked Arthur tiredly.

"I don't know. Like I said, I think you made the best decision you could." Arthur turned to see Merlin chewing his lip and looking thoughtfully into the distance. "Agnes had an apprentice, or something like that. The women all will work together to help each other. I wouldn't be surprised if the men were left to fend for themselves the next time they got sick."

"And the baby?"

"If Gawant doesn't come to claim her, the rest of Helmsford will shame him. He may end up having to leave the village himself. As for little Elaine, I heard the wet-nurse talking. It's likely she'll be adopted and raised as someone's daughter. If not, she'll be raised by the women collectively, and taught a trade early on, to help pay her own way."

Arthur frowned, not having considered that. "How do you know?"

Merlin sighed. "Because I'm from a small village, too, Arthur. It's how we—they—do things." He sighed. "Livestock _is_ food. Children _eat_ food, and until they're big enough, they can't do much to help you _grow_ food. Orphans are just another mouth to feed, in some places."

Arthur wondered what it might be like to be considered "another mouth to feed", a burden, rather than a cherished son or daughter. How might that shape a child's life? He glanced at Merlin, remembering that he had grown up without a father. Had he been expected to do men's work from an early age, expected to pull his own weight? Was he one of the first to go hungry in the village, when food ran short?

Had Arthur condemned Elaine to such a life, thanks to his judgment?

"It's not your fault, Arthur," said Merlin. As if he could read Arthur's thoughts. "Birgitte didn't die because of you. Gawant is the one who needs to make the right decision where Elaine is concerned."

"Yes, well. Let's hope he does."

Such thoughts were uncomfortable to dwell on; Arthur shook them off quickly, and mounted his horse.

* * *

 

They rode slowly, out of deference for Agnes's age and the pace of her donkey. It was a little irritating, not least because there was nothing Arthur could do about it to change things. The notion of putting a little old grandmother onto a charger like Arthur's horse was ridiculous.

It was also annoying how much time Merlin spent with Agnes, talking to her, listening to her stories. It shouldn't have bothered Arthur; they were both commoners, after all, it only made sense that they would be drawn to one another's company. Even so, Arthur found himself gritting his teeth when he heard Merlin laugh yet again at something she had said. For someone who was supposed to be a condemned criminal, Agnes seemed to be having an awfully good time. The knights took turns "guarding" her as they rode, but Arthur got the distinct impression that they were indulging and looking after her, more than anything else.

When Merlin hopped down off his horse and went wandering off into the woods, Arthur decided he'd finally had enough. "What _exactly_ do you think you are doing?" he called, and Merlin, naturally, just looked at him like Arthur was the idiot.

"Gathering herbs," said Merlin. "You go on, I'll catch up."

"What are you doing _gathering herbs_ when we're on patrol, you blithering fool?" One of the knights laughed, covering it quickly, but Arthur didn't bother to look. "None of those are going to be any good by the time we get back to Gaius."

"No, no. They're for dinner tonight."

"Dinner. Tonight."

"Well, sure," said Merlin, actually taking a few steps back toward them. "You're probably going to go murder a rabbit or some quail or something, right, for us to eat? Agnes said there's wild thyme growing round here. It'll taste good with the meat. Better than the palace, even."

" _Agnes_ said."

"Well, yeah."

"Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"Get back on your horse."

"Right, just a second—"

" _Now_ , Merlin."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but started forward, then stumbled to a stop, looking at the ground. He bent down and plucked at some green thing that was growing by his feet. "Found it!" he called, and Arthur resisted the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation.

* * *

 

Merlin continued to be annoying, although if Arthur were being honest with himself, he was more annoyed at the envy and jealousy he felt whenever Merlin catered to the old woman's needs before his own.

"Pssh, you're perfectly capable of getting out your own bedroll, sire," said Merlin that night when he caught the look Arthur was giving him. "Agnes is going to suffer for sleeping on the hard ground as it is. Unless you want us to go even slower tomorrow, because she'll have the ache in her joints, you'll let me help make sure she has a good bed under her tonight."

"Oh, you don't need to see to me," said Agnes then. Had she actually been eavesdropping? "Unless you want to gather some of those grasses for a bit of extra padding, but don't put yourself out on my account."

"It's no trouble," said Merlin.

"Such a kind boy," she said, patting his arm. To Arthur, she said, "You've quite a treasure here, my lord, if I may say so. You should be sure to treat him well."

Arthur nodded politely, but said nothing. What could he say to a sorcerer, anyway? Even if she was only a hedge witch, whatever that meant.

Instead he turned and pulled his own bedding from his horse, and saw to her grooming, while Merlin gathered bundles of grass from the nearby meadow and laid a thick bed for Agnes to spread her blankets on. When he was finished, the old woman's bed looked softer even than Arthur's mattress in the palace. She wouldn't get "the ache in her joints" from that, Arthur was sure.

"Do you need help laying the fire, my lord?" asked Agnes. "Or cooking dinner?"

Arthur wasn't sure he could trust a sorcerer not to poison them, even though Agnes had been apparently well liked and respected in Helmsford before all this happened. "No," he said, then added, "Thank you," a bit belatedly.

The midwife's mouth twisted into something not quite a smile. "You don't trust me, do you?" she said. It was no more a question than her expression was a smile. "Uther has taught you his own fear and hatred."

"I don't hate you," said Arthur. "But you knew of the ban against magic and still practiced it. It's a miracle that you weren't caught and executed before now."

"The people of Helmsford knew I wouldn't harm them," said Agnes simply. "Or at least, that is what I believed, before all this mess."

"It gives me no pleasure to banish you," he replied quietly.

"No, I know it, my lord. You think you are being merciful. And considering the alternative I was facing thanks to Jehan and Gawant, well, I suppose you are. Helmsford was my home, but I would not want to stay there any longer. Not after what happened yesterday." She sighed, and turned to look at Merlin where he was stooped over, setting the firewood into the ring of stones he'd gathered. "All the same, your servant makes this journey bearable. I hope you don't decide to punish him or some such nonsense for keeping me company until we reach the border."

"As long as you don't try to take him with you," said Arthur, half-joking.

"Oh no, no fear of that," said Agnes. "I'm sure my soulmate is a little older than him. You will have him to yourself again soon enough."

"Wha—that's not what I—" Arthur sputtered to a stop as Agnes began to laugh. She even reached over and patted him on the arm, which was audacious for a commoner and potentially dangerous coming from a witch. Arthur managed not to flinch away, but it was a near thing. "I thought sorcerers didn't even _have_ heart lines," he grumbled.

In response, Agnes pulled up her sleeve and showed him the bright red line running up her arm. "Nonsense, my lord. Everyone has a heart line," she said. "And who knows? Perhaps my banishment will be a good thing, after all. Perhaps I will finally meet my soulmate, somewhere beyond the borders of your kingdom."

* * *

 

It was odd how unafraid Merlin was of her, Arthur thought; in the past he'd seemed absolutely twitchy whenever the topic of magic came up in conversation, but around Agnes he seemed completely at ease. Was it because she was a commoner? Did he believe her when she said she didn't have enough magic to be a threat to them?

Why would he take her word at face value?

Should Arthur?

Unbidden, his thoughts turned from Agnes to Morgana. What was he to do about her? That was simple. He had discovered she was his sister in almost the same moment that he'd discovered what a hypocrite Uther truly was; the vision of Ygraine… Merlin had tried to talk him out of believing it, but Arthur suspected that his servant had mainly been interested in keeping him from killing his own father.

Morgana was his sister, the sister he'd never realized he had, and the only family he had apart from Uther and a maternal uncle he barely knew. He would do anything to keep her safe.

 _Even though she has magic?_ whispered a part of his mind, and watching as Agnes and Merlin smiled at each other by the fire, his heart whispered back, _Yes._

Arthur had always been taught that magic was evil, and that sorcerers chose it because they lusted for power. But he knew about Morgana's nightmares, and knew that she hadn't chosen to have magic any more than people could choose to have heart lines. It just _was_ , and what a person did with it decided everything else.

Morgana had decided to save Camelot, at the cost of another sorcerer's life, her own half-sister, Morgause. Or she had decided to save her soulmate, perhaps, but it amounted to the same thing. Agnes had decided to use her gifts to help people. The druids were peaceful, despite practically swimming in sorcery and magical energies every day.

Could it really be that his father… Arthur shook the thought away. It was a stupid question; _of course_ it could be possible that Uther was wrong. If the vision Morgause had given Arthur was true—and in his heart, he felt that it was, despite what Merlin had said—then his father had relied heavily on magic, more heavily than he should have perhaps, but he had not feared it until it had taken his mother away. And rather than blaming his own hubris, he'd blamed the very magic he himself had turned to in the first place.

It was rather like Gawant and Birgitte, now that Arthur thought about it. They were soulmates, just as Uther and Ygraine had been. And Arthur had seen firsthand just what that loss had done to Gawant, and had Uther's own words that the pain would still be felt decades later. But instead of seeing how he was partially responsible for what had happened, Gawant had chosen to blame Agnes.

Uther had chosen to blame all of magic.

Logically… logically, the conclusion was clear. Magic couldn't—it _couldn't_ —be blamed for every ill. It couldn't be wholly evil. Not when people like Agnes and the druids existed.

Not when Morgana existed.

Maybe the evil was a function of how strong the magic flowed in a person's veins; Arthur didn't know that for sure, and it wasn't like he had anyone to ask. But magic itself, its mere existence?

It couldn't be wholly evil.

Could it?

Arthur watched from the opposite side of the fire as Merlin helped Agnes to lie down and get comfortable on her bed of meadow grass, and wondered.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the trip from Helmsford to the nearest border was largely uneventful; by day the patrol ambled along at the pace of Agnes's donkey, and by night they ate around the fire and slept peacefully. The weather was fine, apart from a bit of drizzle that only lasted an hour or so on the fourth day.

Arthur had to say this for her, as old as Agnes was, she didn't deliberately try to slow them down. There were no calls for frequent stops to rest, or complaints about her joints, or anything else of the sort.

"She complains less than you do," he said to Merlin.

"If she complains there's a good chance you'll lop her head off," said Merlin, and Arthur reached across the gap between their horses to smack him on the back of the head. "Ow!"

"You're not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be." Merlin rubbed at his head, which was ridiculous; it wasn't like Arthur had hit him that hard. "She's being treated with a lot of respect, but she's still your prisoner, and she knows it. She's not going to cause trouble for you."

And Arthur hated it, but he was the one to look away first. "She knows the law," he said quietly. "I'll not see her harmed, but she cannot stay in Camelot any longer. She should have left ages ago, or given up her magic like Gaius did."

"As if that would have done her any good!" Merlin shook his head, looking at him like Arthur had missed something obvious. "Any herb woman who knows too much or is trusted to look after people can be accused of sorcery if she so much as annoys the village gossip, Arthur. You have to know not everyone killed in Uther's _purge_ was necessarily guilty of anything. The odd man who lives on the outskirts of town, the midwife who loses a baby, the outspoken woman who refuses to marry… anyone who stands out can be accused of being a sorcerer, or blamed as soon as the weather turns foul or illness sweeps the town."

And Arthur had known that, at least intellectually, but having seen Agnes nearly murdered by a mob had brought the concept into uncomfortably sharp focus. "What would you have me do, then?" he snapped. "Defy my father? Allow malicious sorcerers to roam free alongside the innocent? You've seen the damage magic can do."

Merlin licked his lip, seemingly nervous, then said carefully, "I think it could do great good as well, if it were allowed to exist." He sighed, and went on, "If people weren't hunted for what they are, if—if people were judged on what they _did,_ rather than on what they happen to _have_. Arthur, Gaius told me that even children were not spared in the early years. And you remember that druid boy. Uther would have made an _example_ of him, and he couldn't have been even ten years old. You cannot tell me that that was a just or right thing to do."

"My father is king, and what is just or right is what he decides." The words left a sour taste in Arthur's mouth; even as he said them, he knew they were not entirely true. His father was motivated by grief and guilt at least as much as he was by a sense of honor or duty, or service to Camelot.

"Someday it'll be what you decide." Merlin raised his eyebrows at him. "I just hope you'll decide something with a little more mercy and rationality to it."

This was the closest Merlin had ever gotten to speaking against the king, which was treason in itself. Arthur wanted to warn his servant to stop, to mind his tongue where others could overhear him, but Merlin was already dropping back to take his place beside Agnes, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

They had stopped for a light lunch when Agnes approached him again. "You are angry with Merlin," she said without preamble. "He pushes you to think of uncomfortable things."

"I'm not angry with him," said Arthur. "But… yes. He does push me, often. Sometimes—no, I should say 'nearly always'—he oversteps his proper place."

"And you allow it," said Agnes. "It's a good thing you do."

Had Merlin somehow convinced Agnes that it was all right to speak to him this way? "Why, because it's entertaining to see someone show me such disrespect?"

Agnes only smiled. "No. Because he sees _you_ , my lord. He does not care for your rank, only for your worth as a man. You allow him to push you because you know he is good for you." She patted him on the arm, as she had yesterday. "I know it's a bit personal, but have you met your soulmate, young man?"

Arthur felt his cheeks flush, and hated it. "No." She could not possibly know that his heart line had not yet come in. Could she?

The way she was looking at him, and with her magic, she probably could. "Ah, I see," she said, and Arthur's face grew even hotter. "Well, I will say no more, then, except this: you have a great destiny ahead of you, Arthur Pendragon, and together you and your soulmate will accomplish impossible things."

"I have to meet them first," he tried to joke, but Agnes only smiled again.

"I think you'll find he is closer than you realize. All you need to do is prepare yourself to accept all that he is."

And she took herself off and allowed Gwaine to help her up onto her donkey's back again.

* * *

 

Later that night, Arthur lay wide awake on his bedroll, after everyone else had gone to sleep except for the watch. The stars hung overhead, seeming close enough to touch, but Arthur was too perturbed to appreciate their beauty.

 _He is closer than you realize_ , she'd said _._ What did that mean? Well, besides the obvious. Arthur had often wondered if his soulmate were really a woman. He spent more time around his knights, and it would certainly be convenient if he got a blue line and found a bond with one of them.

Was this mystery man someone that Arthur would find before he grew too old? He thought of Agnes and her heart line, still red and not black even at her age. She still hoped to meet her soulmate, wherever he happened to be.

 _Accept all that he is_ _…_ Arthur had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew exactly what that meant. His heart line still hadn't come in, at twenty-one years of age, and that meant he was not yet ready to meet his soulmate. There was something Arthur was not yet prepared to accept about _him_.

What did it mean? The only thing he'd been struggling to accept lately was Morgana's magic, and the possible truth that magic itself was not evil. Would his soulmate have magic? Was Agnes hinting that Arthur would end up bonded to a sorcerer? There were romantic ballads sung by the minstrels about true love, and the way heart lines glowed silver when two soulmates met, yes; but there were also the tragedies, about unrequited lovers who never crossed paths, or worse, those who faced one another on opposite sides of the battlefield. The soulmates who met, only to die by one another's hand, their lines turning silver and then black in almost the same instant as they fell together.

Arthur shuddered, and rolled away from the fire. If he was right about Agnes's meaning, then that would be a far more likely event for him than to have a happy ending. A woman he could not marry, according to Uther; a man who might have magic, according to Agnes.

 _Together you will accomplish impossible things_ _…_ Agnes had sounded so positive, so certain when she'd said that. How could that be the case, given Arthur's predicament?

He shut his eyes and heaved a sigh, pulling his blanket up around his ears. It didn't matter anyway. None of it mattered. Uther would never allow Arthur to have either soulmate, man or woman, if it interfered with his chances to marry for politics.

 _You have a great destiny ahead of you, Arthur Pendragon_ _…_ yes, and it was one he would likely have to turn his back on in order to be the king that Camelot needed.

* * *

 

"The border, sire," said Leon the next afternoon. Arthur's gaze followed the other knight's outstretched arm to where the two stones stood on either side of the road.  The boundary markers were unguarded, and there was no one else in sight on the road. In the far distance, Arthur thought he saw smoke, perhaps from a village that Agnes could reach before nightfall.

"Well. I guess this is it, then," said Gwaine. "My lady, it's been a pleasure." He bent low in the saddle to take Agnes's hand and kiss the back of it.

"You are a charmer, Sir Gwaine, but I don't believe a word of it," said Agnes, with a smile that Gwaine returned.

"At the very least it has been no hardship to accompany you this far," offered Lancelot. "A pity we can go no further, and see you safely to yon village."

Agnes turned and looked at the smoke, little more than a smudge against the sky, and sighed contentedly. "Oh, I'll manage on my own from here, never you fear. There's nothing worth stealing in my baskets, and even bandits usually have the decency to leave an old woman alone."

"Bandits have not been reported in this stretch of either kingdom for some time," said Elyan. "Caerleon is a just king, by most reports, and his people should welcome you readily enough."

"All the better, then," said Agnes. She was still staring at the distant smudge on the horizon, a little smile playing about her lips. "I suppose I should thank you, Arthur Pendragon. I have a good feeling about what is to come."

Arthur was glad at least one of them did. "By the power vested in me as crown prince of Camelot, I hereby banish you from the kingdom for the rest of your days," he said. Rather than continuing with the usual wording of the proclamation, however, he paused, then said simply, "Go in peace, and be well, Agnes of Helmsford."

The old woman stroked a thumb across her left palm, studying the heart line marked there. "I think I shall, my lord. Or, well. I suppose once I cross between those two stones, you will not be my lord any longer, will you?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Nonetheless, I think I shall be all right, young man. And you, mark what I said."

Arthur did not miss the way Merlin's head whipped around to study Arthur. "I will," he replied, knowing in his bones that Merlin would pester him about it later. "Now. Off you go—"

"Wait," said Merlin. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Is your waterskin full? Do you have enough food for the next day or two?"

"It's kind of you to ask, young man, but I'll be fine; don't you fret."  She winked at him, and for a moment Arthur thought her eyes glowed gold with magic. It was all he could do not to draw blade instinctively at the sight. "I'm not terribly powerful, it's true, but I can take care of myself."

"If you say so," said Merlin, but he was smiling rather than looking as skeptical as Arthur felt.

"Such a nice young man." Agnes turned and took them all in, one last time. "All of you. You were kinder than you had to be, considering your duty. I appreciate you making my last days in Camelot something other than miserable."

"Of course," said Arthur. "Goodbye, Agnes."

"Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon. Merlin. Gwaine, Elyan, Percival. Leon. Lancelot." She nodded to them all; then she nudged her donkey's flanks and clucked her tongue, and he obediently began to carry her down the hill toward the border.

Arthur waited and watched until she crossed, then disappeared behind the next bend in the road, but Agnes never once looked back.

* * *

 

"So what did Agnes say to you that she wanted you to remember?" asked Merlin, later that night as they were sat around the fire.

"None of your business, Merlin," sighed Arthur.

"It's about your heart line, isn't it?" Arthur glared, but of course Merlin didn't even notice. No one could truly be that oblivious. He had to be doing it on purpose. "It's just, she and I talked about heart lines a lot. It seems to be kind of her _thing_."

"Her thing, Merlin? Is that the term used among learned people?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "She was a midwife, yes, but she told you at her trial, she also gave advice to 'lovelorn couples'. She studied heart lines… and while she never said it, I got the feeling that she also used her magic to try and help people find their soulmates."

An uncomfortable sensation slithered down Arthur's spine at the thought of Agnes having used her magic on him. "And she talked to you about yours, did she?"

"A little, yeah."

"You let her use magic?" Arthur leaned forward. "She cast a spell?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I think she just has a… a feeling for them."

"I see." Arthur was surprised at the sense of disappointment that welled up. He'd almost been hoping… for what? To see magic used to benefit another person, perhaps. Proof that it could be used in such a way. "And what did she say to you about yours?"

One corner of Merlin's mouth quirked up, and he seemed to study Arthur's face for a moment before turning to poke at the fire. "Nothing I didn't already know."

Arthur blinked. "Are you pretending to be interesting again?" he asked, nudging his shoulder into the other man's.

Merlin nudged back. "No, just—well, _your_ heart line is nobody's business, is it? Why should mine be up for public discussion?"

"We weren't talking about heart lines, we were talking about soulmates," said Arthur. "Come on, spill."

Merlin glared a little, but he still took a deep breath and let it out slowly and went back to poking at the fire with the little stick he'd found. "I… have a suspicion about who my soulmate might be. Agnes said I was probably right."

"Wait, you mean you already know them? You'll get to meet them when we go back to Camelot?" Arthur pulled back. "Merlin, that's wonderful news." But Merlin wasn't smiling. "Wait. Is that _not_ wonderful news?"

"It's… complicated," he said slowly. "They're… I'm ready for them, I think, but they're not ready for me. I'm not sure they ever will be. I'm… not exactly the best catch, after all."

"That's ridiculous," said Arthur. "I thought soulmates were supposed to be the perfect person for you, no matter what. Warts and all."

"I haven't got any warts!"

"It's an _expression_ , Merlin. All your flaws. They're not supposed to matter to your soulmate, are they?"

"Yeah, well, it's just—complicated. Like I said."

"Your heart line has come in and theirs hasn't?"

"Not as far as I know, no."

"So they're younger than you," suggested Arthur, "or they have some growing left to do. That doesn't mean _never_ , it just means _not now._ "

"I suppose."

"Look," he offered. "You may be a terrible manservant—clumsy, idiotic, incompetent—"

"Arthur—"

"A lousy hunter—insolent as a jaybird—"

"Arthur!" But he was laughing now, and that was what Arthur had been aiming for.

"—but that doesn't mean you're completely useless," he finished. "You have… there are qualities about you. You're kind, as Agnes said. You're… sometimes you almost seem wise." Arthur looked up to see Merlin watching him, eyes shining in the firelight. "You're a good friend. Though I'll deny it to my dying day, and if you try to use it to your advantage I'll throw you in the stocks."

Merlin smiled, the slow, sweet one that Arthur always felt as though he needed to work to achieve. "Yes, sire."

"Get some sleep." He clapped Merlin on the shoulder, and moved to lie down on his own bedroll. "We'll be making up for lost time in the morning."

* * *

 

Of course, the gods were fickle and so was the weather. The next morning dawned hot, and only grew hotter as they traveled, pushing the horses to try and return to their route toward the Isle of the Blessed. By noon, it was sweltering, hot enough that even Merlin had stopped his usual prattle in favor of sagging in his saddle, face flushed and looking half-dead of the heat.

"If I'm roasting," he said finally, "the rest of you must be even worse off. How are you not getting blisters from your own armor?"

"Trying not to think about that," said Percival, and the others laughed tiredly. His bare arms looked a little burned already from the sun.

"Your faces are nearly as red as your cloaks," said Merlin. "We need to stop."

"Are you forgetting who is in command of this patrol again?" asked Arthur. As it happened, he agreed with his servant, but as prince he was supposed to set an example for his men. Let them call for rest; Arthur couldn't without appearing weak.

"Merlin's right, sire," said Leon, and Arthur secretly gave thanks. "Our errand isn't urgent. Perhaps we can find a place to rest through the worst heat of the day?"

"If I remember this route, there's a river another hour's ride ahead," said Lancelot. "We could make camp there, sire, maybe get wet to cool off."

"I'd recommend it," said Merlin, wiping his face with his kerchief.

"Oh you would, would you?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, but Merlin, of course, was uncowed.

"Gaius has taught me a little about heatstroke, sire, and believe me when I say you wouldn't want to get it. Giving ourselves and the horses a break is a wise choice."

Come to think of it, the horses didn't look to be doing too well either, and Arthur and his men had been working harder and harder for the past couple of hours to convince them to give their riders anything faster than a walk. "Fine," said Arthur. "We'll stop at the river until things cool down a bit, rather than pressing on to Redhurst."

And if they all ended up half-naked in the river's cool water, well, Arthur wasn't going to complain much beyond form's sake.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't long before they made it under the cover of trees, and the relief from the heat was immediate. Unprompted, the horses picked up their pace, no doubt able to smell the river up ahead. Despite the heat, there had been no drought, so the water flowed swiftly; Arthur and his men could hear it through the trees, a steady sound underneath the scattered birdsong.

"Last one in the river is a dead toad," said Gwaine, once they found a clearing suitable for camp. He hadn't even dismounted yet and was already shucking his maille shirt over his head.

"Right, you lot, just go on ahead, leave _Merlin_ to set up the entire camp by himself," groused Merlin. "Never mind the horses or anything—"

"Oh, shut up, Merlin, you whine like a toddler." Arthur tossed the reins of his horse to the servant, who caught them but leveled Arthur a positively filthy glare. "Don't take too long, now," he added with a laugh, just to see if Merlin's scowl could grow any darker.

It could, as it turned out.

Arthur turned, and tripped solidly over a fallen branch that he could have sworn wasn't there a second ago.

He ignored Merlin's snort, and the knights' laughter, and stalked off to the river to bathe.

* * *

 

By the time Arthur was out of his armor, with no help from Merlin, the other knights were already in the water, either soaking or swimming, or just splashing each other. After the fourth time that Gwaine tried to duck Lancelot's head under, Percival picked him up and bodily threw him into deeper water, making everyone else laugh.

Arthur grinned, but headed for a quieter section of the river rather than joining them. Partly it was unbecoming of a prince to horse around with his subordinates (although that had never stopped him before), but mostly it was because all their heart lines were flashing against their skin, and it made Arthur itch to ask questions whose answers were none of his business. They also looked to all be in a teasing mood, and Arthur's immature heart line was sure to come up as part of the jests and friendly insults tossed back and forth. Arthur didn't want to hear it, today.

He knew Leon's heart line had turned black before he'd ever met his soulmate, and that Elyan's was silver but he would never reveal who the lucky partner was. Arthur thought he'd heard a rumor once that the other knight had found a woman, but only after she had already married another. Arthur had no idea how they managed, if that was the case.

Lancelot's heart line was red, which made him the only typical man in their little group, oddly enough. Gwaine's heart line had been blue when he and Arthur had first met, but then he had met Percival and that had been that. Heart-friends, as the minstrels called it. They would do anything for each other, and half the time Gwaine finished Percival's sentences for him, but they would never be lovers. If nothing else, Gwaine was notorious for his enjoyment of the company of women.

Arthur tried not to envy them. Had bitten his tongue repeatedly rather than ask either of them, any of them, what it was like. Leon had never met his soulmate; did it still hurt to know they were gone? Did Lancelot ever feel things from his heart line when his soulmate was upset? Could they do as the minstrels claimed in their songs and stories, and communicate a little with one another?

These were questions that would never be answered, and it was pointless to dwell on them. With a sigh, Arthur removed his boots and stockings, untied his gambeson, and peeled his sweat-soaked tunic off, draping everything over a tree branch… and then he froze, just as he was about to slip into the water.

His heart line was no longer dull brown. The color on the inside of his forearm was brilliant and rich, a royal purple like velvet tracing all the way from his palm to his heart.

And there was a destiny mark on his chest.

Quickly, Arthur looked over his shoulder, but there was no one else to see. In the distance, he could hear the knights still roughhousing with one another, and the sound made his shoulders drop in relief. Still, he couldn't help the urge to hurry into the water, to hide his line now that it had come in.

He ducked underwater, slicking his hair back with both hands as he came up, and kept everything past his neck beneath the surface. The heart line on his palm seemed to ripple with the current as he studied it. Red meant lovers, he knew that, and blue was for heart-friends. Silver was for those who had found their soulmates, while black was for those who had lost them.

Arthur had never seen a purple line before.

Granted, Uther hadn't exactly encouraged him to learn about heart lines or soulmates, given his feelings toward them, but Arthur thought he ought to at least have _heard_ of the meaning behind a purple heart line. And Arthur wasn't imagining things, either; it was clearly not blue, and not red. He knew the exact shade of the colors that were on Lancelot's arm and had been on Gwaine and Percival's before they'd found one another.

With another glance over his shoulder, Arthur stood up, letting the water sluice off his shoulders so he could get a better view of his destiny mark. Some said a destiny mark told one a bit about one's soulmate, gave one a hint as to who they were; others said it simply meant that the bond between two soulmates was especially strong and that they would accomplish great things together.

Agnes had hinted as much, now that Arthur thought about it, and he found himself suppressing the urge to go galloping back to the border at Caerleon to find her and ask what she'd meant.

It was a bit difficult to tell, looking at it upside down, but Arthur thought his mark might be in the shape of a hawk or falcon. Some kind of bird, anyway. It reminded him a bit of his mother's sigil, which was… comforting. He carried a small shaving mirror in his pack when he traveled; perhaps tonight when it was his turn on watch, he could get a better look at it.

"Sire?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, splashing wildly as he spun and ducked back into the water. "Merlin."

"Thought you might like a clean tunic to change into after you were done," he said, holding up the garment in question. He cocked his head curiously, and Arthur wondered what he was staring at. "Did I actually sneak up on you?"

"Psh. _No_."

"I did, didn't I?" He grinned like the idiot he was. "What in the world were you paying attention to for _that_ to happen?"

"None of your business," said Arthur. Then, because sometimes his mouth didn't know when to stop around his manservant: "I thought I saw a… fish."

Merlin's eyebrows went up. "A fish? Was it big?"

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. I thought so. Hard to tell. It was about—" He moved to bring his hands out of the water, then remembered at the last second and ducked his left back under, so he was measuring with only one hand like an idiot. "—so big."

"Maybe I could catch something for dinner," mused Merlin, and that was _perfect._ Anything to keep him from seeing Arthur's heart line.

"Yes! Yes, you should try that. Have you had a chance to get in the water yet? You don't look it."

"No, I was busy setting up camp, remember? With no help from the rest of you. I just need to bring the horses back and tie them up—"

"No, no, you've done enough," said Arthur. "Well done. Get the knights to see to their own mounts. You should," he made a shooing motion with one hand, "go. Fish."

Merlin looked at him like he'd grown another head, which was only appropriate considering that Arthur felt like he might have. "If you're sure…"

"Yes yes, quite sure, off you go."

Merlin nodded slowly, suspiciously, but nevertheless draped Arthur's clean tunic over the same branch as his other clothing. "I'll just leave this here, then," he said, and backed away.

When he was gone, Arthur held his breath, ducked back underwater, and smacked himself in the face. Why had he _done_ that? Why had he acted like such a… such a _clotpole_?

Some instinct to hide had completely overcome him; him, Arthur Pendragon, who had never shied from an enemy in his entire _life._ But the thought of anyone seeing his heart line right now was just unbearable, and he didn't know why. Was it because it was new and still settling in, or something? Did heart lines do that? Was that why his was purple instead of blue or red? Or perhaps there was something wrong with it, and that was why it was the wrong color, and his soul just knew to hide it away.

If there was something wrong with his heart line, did that mean there was something wrong with him as well? Arthur felt sick at the thought.

He pulled on his clean tunic, mindful that no one was around to see, and wondered what Uther would have to say. It would be better if he never found out.

* * *

 

"Well, it's clear we won't be going anywhere for the rest of the day," he said, once he entered their clearing. Merlin had apparently decided that they were spending the night, because the horses were all free of their saddles and rubbed down, dozing contentedly in a picket line; a fire ring was built and gathered wood piled in and beside it, and everyone's bedrolls were laid out in a neat circle around it. He'd even taken the time in this heat to dig a half-decent latrine before coming to find Arthur.

Percival and Gwaine both grinned; Arthur noticed that Gwaine wasn't even wearing his boots, and rolled his eyes. Not that that had any effect on Gwaine. "Looks like Merlin made himself scarce rather than listen to you complain about it."

"No, I sent him fishing," said Arthur. "He thinks he can catch enough for our dinner."

"And let me guess, you think he can't," said Gwaine.

"I never said that."

"Bet you a clean pair of socks that he does."

Arthur stopped rummaging through his pack to give Gwaine a look which the other knight, of course, completely ignored. "I doubt you even own a clean pair of socks."

"And that's why I'm betting."

Leon laughed. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"Either he'll catch something or he won't," said Arthur. "We have plenty of rations if he doesn't."

"Fresh fish does sound good," admitted Gwaine. "Think I might go help him."

"No you won't," said Percival. "You'd only distract him or find a way to cheat."

"Speaking of not making sense," put in Elyan. "How can you cheat at catching fish?"

The conversation devolved from there into ridiculous banter, the knights all clearly feeling much better after their dip in the river. Arthur leaned back on his bedroll and let the sound wash over him, content despite his misgivings about his newly-matured heart line.

"You seem awfully quiet," said Lancelot, dropping down beside him. He held out a full skin of water and Arthur took it, drinking deeply.

"Just thinking," said Arthur. An idea came to him then, and he said, "You've traveled a lot."

"I have, sire."

"Seen many strange and wondrous things, no doubt."

"I've seen my share, I suppose. Why?"

Arthur bit his lip, then let it go lest someone accuse him of nervousness. He leaned in close and turned his left hand palm up. "I discovered this, down at the river."

Lancelot looked, then blinked and looked more closely. "Congratulations, sire."

He turned his hand back over, rubbing it on his pant leg nervously. "There's… nothing wrong with it, is there?"

Now Lancelot looked at him with understanding in his eyes, and Arthur fought not to cringe. "Not at all. A rare color, purple. I've only seen it perhaps two other times in all my travels."

"So you know what it means."

"I do, but it's hard to explain."

"Try," said Arthur, and Lancelot raised one eyebrow at his attempt to command. Arthur glanced around the clearing, and lowered his voice. "Please."

Lancelot leaned back on his arms, tipping his head up to the sky as he thought. "You know that red is for lovers and blue is for friends," he began. "That's a simplified version, but you do know that much, yes?"

"Yes."

"Purple is somewhere in the middle between the two. It's love without lust. Or with very rare instances of it."

"Blue doesn't have lust."

"Blue is a different kind of affection," said Lancelot. "Take Gwaine and Percival. They don't appear to be in love to you, do they?"

Arthur glanced over to where the two were nudging and joking with one another. "No, I suppose not."

"With purple, it'd be clear to see that the two of you _were_ in love. You'd do anything for one another, put the other first. Save each other's lives. Trust one another with your deepest secrets."

"That sounds like Gwaine and Percival."

"Hmm, true… but Gwaine and Percival still have friends outside their pairing. They balance one another perfectly without the need for love or lust to be involved in their relationship. Red soulmates, by contrast, almost never take another lover once they're matched, and they can be so distracted by desire that sometimes they can become a little too caught up in one another. Like the first blush of new love, only prolonged."

"I think I understand." Though that still didn't explain how Elyan managed with his supposedly-married soulmate.

"With purple, it's a bit like that. There is no other for you. You will have friendships, of course, but there will be no one else like your soulmate. You'll care about other friends, there is still room for affection, but you will only truly love the one who put that mark on your arm. The two of you will be… intimate, but unlike red soulmates, you won't feel," Lancelot cleared his throat, "there won't necessarily be any _carnal_ desire for your beloved."

Arthur took that in, struggling to understand what it might mean for him personally. It didn't quite make sense, but he wasn't sure that Lancelot would be able to clear it up for him, either. "I have a destiny mark too." The words came out in a rush, and he could feel his face heating as soon as he said them.

"An auspicious pairing indeed," said Lancelot. He smiled. "But then, you're to be king of Camelot, Arthur. I would expect nothing less."

 _My father would never allow it_ , he almost said, but stopped himself. That was the sort of thing he could tell Merlin, but the other knights? Could Arthur tell them about the destiny that Agnes had said he would carry? It didn't feel right, for some reason.

"Thank you, Lancelot," he said instead.

"Of course." Lancelot clapped on hand on his shoulder and stood. "By the gods, it's hot out today. Stopping here for the night was a wise decision."

"It was Merlin's decision," said Arthur wryly. "I had expected us to rest only through the worst heat of the day, and then try to make Redhurst before dark."

Lancelot glanced around the camp before giving Arthur an impish smile. "He does have a way of making his opinions known."

"That he does."

"You said you sent him fishing? I'll go check on him, then."

Arthur nodded. "Make sure he doesn't fall in and drown."

* * *

 

It was too hot to want a fire, but if Merlin did succeed in catching any fish, they would need one to roast their dinner. And if he didn't succeed, well, there were ingredients for a passable stew if one of the knights managed to bring in a little meat themselves. With nothing better to do with their afternoon, Elyan and Percival had gone into the woods to set rabbit snares, while Gwaine had pulled out a pair of dice and was idly tossing them across his blankets. Leon was sitting against a tree and carving into a chunk of wood he'd found, so Arthur stepped over to him long enough to collect the shavings for tinder.

He was laying the wood in the shape needed for a proper cook fire when he felt it. There was a tingle like pins and needles tracing along his arm—which felt really strange in his armpit where the heart line left his chest—and then a sense of happiness that was not his own. Arthur couldn't possibly have described how he knew, but he was absolutely certain that the happiness was what his soulmate was feeling, right in that moment. It made him smile, and drop the stick he was holding so that he could get a better look at his heart line.

There was another pins-and-needles tingle, and he saw his heart line flare gold.

Arthur blinked at it, but the color had gone. Still, for just an instant, he could have sworn…

There it was again. The tingling was not unpleasant, and he didn't think it would affect the use of his hand; he didn't feel any numbness in his fingers or down his arm. But accompanying the fleeting sensation was a flicker of gold light in his heart line, like the glow of sparks from a fire. A brief flare that faded quickly.

What could it mean?

Arthur thought of Agnes, and Morgana, and the past several nights of pondering, and thought perhaps he knew.


	6. Chapter 6

His soulmate had magic.

Arthur Pendragon's _soulmate_ had _magic_.

If his father ever found out, there would be hell to pay. _Well, there's a simple solution to that_ , Arthur thought, perhaps a little hysterically. _Father must never find out._

Was this what it was like to be Morgana? To have a secret that he was absolutely certain would lead to someone's death, or at the very least his own disinheritance?

Arthur glanced quickly around the clearing. None of the other knights had noticed anything amiss, so he went back to laying the fire as if nothing had happened. He could get through this; it wasn't life-threatening… or at least, it probably wasn't.

Oh, God, what if it was? What if his soulmate was an enemy of Camelot? What if Arthur's story were meant to end in tragedy: two soulmates discovering one another from opposite sides of the battlefield?

 _God_ , he thought in disgust. _How maudlin would that be?_ Bad enough that he had a soulmate he could never be with if he wanted to please Uther and carry on the succession, and a destiny he would likely have to ignore for the good of Camelot. On top of all that, did he really have to have a soulmate with magic, and die a minstrel's cliche?

A glow of concern came to him through the heart line, and he blinked at it in surprise. They hadn't even met yet; was he supposed to be feeling such clear emotions from his soulmate already?

God, there was so much he didn't know, and there was no one he could go to to ask. Lancelot had helped a little, but… It was already bad enough that the knights knew he was the only one among them without a mature heart line. At least that much had finally changed, but if word got out that Prince Arthur Pendragon did not even understand how heart lines worked, or that he had an abnormal heart line, well, he might as well turn in his belt and spurs, and let his sword rust in its scabbard. He'd never be able to command their respect again.

What was he going to do?

There was another tingle of magic along his heart line, and Arthur clenched his hand into a fist in an effort to make the sensation stop. Who was his soulmate and what were they up to, that they were using so much magic right now?

He turned back to his pack, and pulled out the flint and steel. The glow of concern was back, and stronger, feeling almost as though someone who cared was resting their hand on his arm and asking if he was all right, the way Merlin sometimes did. All Arthur wanted to do was fling that hand away and demand that his soulmate leave him alone. He hadn't asked for this—not the heart line, not the strange color, not a soulmate with magic, and not some grand destiny—not any of it, and for just a moment he wished it would all go away.

The glow from his heart line changed, to something a bit more difficult to define. Sadness, perhaps, or regret. Perhaps a bit of hurt? Arthur couldn't tell. It wasn't as though girly feelings were his strong suit anyway; he wasn't Merlin, to go weeping over every dead deer on the hunting trips they took.

(To be fair, he'd really only actually cried over the unicorn, and as it turned out he'd been right to do so. But still.)

Perhaps… Arthur took a deep breath. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't _know_ that his soulmate had magic. He'd only know for sure if he were to find them and ask them. Or perhaps Lancelot might know for certain what the gold flicker along his heart line might mean. Of course, that would mean actually having to ask Lancelot, and Arthur wasn't sure he was ready to do that. Certainly not tonight, not with the other knights around.

Still. The odds that he was right, Arthur thought, were pretty high. His heart line hadn't come in for a very long time, because Arthur hadn't been emotionally ready to meet his soulmate. Agnes had suggested that there was something about his soulmate that he wasn't ready for, wasn't prepared to accept. And the only thing Arthur had been thinking about lately that had really changed were his views on magic. Arthur would still be deeply suspicious of anyone who came up and announced that they were a sorcerer—how could he not be, given all he had seen?—but he was at least prepared to accept that not all magic was evil, and that not all sorcerers were corrupted by that power. His soulmate would love and accept Arthur, flaws and all; the least he could do, the bare minimum, was to entertain the possibility that his soulmate wasn't evil, just because he or she had magic.

Morgana hadn't even chosen to study magic; the dreams had just come upon her, whether she had wanted them or not. How could that be evil? Maybe Arthur's soulmate was the same way. Didn't the druids seek out children who had magical abilities and take them for training? Children couldn't possibly choose magic themselves, could they? They were too young to make such a decision.

Maybe Arthur would find his soulmate among the druids. That would be a fine jest from the gods… although, Arthur supposed, at least the druids being peaceful meant that they would be less likely to kill one another on sight.

* * *

 

Merlin and Lancelot came back from the river not long afterward, Merlin dripping wet up to his knees; in one hand, he carried his boots, and in the other an impressive string of fish. There would be enough for everyone to eat their fill, even with the appetites that Arthur knew the knights all had.

"Not bad," he said, as Percival came up and clapped Merlin on the shoulder. "Caught all those yourself, did you?"

"'Course I did," said Merlin.

"He did, sire," said Lancelot. "I only kept watch for danger."

The prince raised one eyebrow. "You hate hunting."

"Fishing isn't hunting," came Merlin's rejoinder. "Peasants don't usually get permission to go off and kill the king's deer, you know."

Arthur hadn't thought of that.

"I dunno about Camelot," Merlin continued, "but in Essetir, at least, we can have all the fish and eels we can take. There's a river runs right past Ealdor."

"And you've been fishing since you could walk, I take it," said Arthur.

One corner of Merlin's mouth quirked up. "Something like that." Lancelot ducked his head as if he were fighting a laugh. Arthur didn't particularly see what was so funny, but didn't care to pursue it. Doubtless, if Arthur asked, Merlin would have a long and convoluted story that rambled off into a dozen tangents and never actually answered the question.

Arthur wished he didn't find his blithering so amusing. At the same time, it was nice that Merlin didn't fear the prince or defer to him—to anybody, really—only because of his station.

* * *

 

They made quick work of the fish, wrapped in leaves and roasted in the coals of the fire along with some of the wild thyme that Merlin had harvested earlier in their trip. Merlin kept shooting Arthur amused looks every time someone praised the flavor or asked for another. Arthur, for his part, rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to elbow his manservant. No one appreciated smugness, after all.

"The last time I had fish this good," Gwaine was saying, "I was in Mercia, in this tavern—"

"Of course you were—" put in Percival. And Leon. And Elyan. And Lancelot. Arthur grinned at their chorus.

"— _in this tavern_ , I was saying, whose proprietress was one of the most beautiful women I've ever had the pleasure to encounter. A wildcat in bed, she was, too, as I recall."

"You're a boor, Gwaine," said Leon, shaking his head.

"Last I checked, celibacy wasn't part of the knights' code in any of the Five Kingdoms," the other knight retorted. "The rest of you act as though you've never touched a woman."

"I've _touched_ plenty," said Percival. "Just don't see the need to boast about it."

"You, Percival?" asked Elyan. "You're so quiet. I'd half expect Lancelot to see further up a woman's skirt."

The others laughed, although Lancelot was shaking his head. "The lady's honor," he began, but Gwaine threw a fish bone at him.

"And when she pounces on you when you're half-drunk and can't get away fast enough, I reckon she doesn't have a whole lot of virtue to defend. Plenty to _share_ , though."

"I'm waiting to meet my soulmate," returned Lancelot, but Gwaine was unmoved.

"Now me, if my heart line had been red, I'd have wanted to learn as much as I could ahead of time so I could please my lover once I found her. Or him," he added, when Percival elbowed him.

"I've learned enough," said Lancelot with a shrug. "Once my heart line came in… I just wasn't as interested with anybody else."

"Aye, well, with your ugly mug, I'm not surprised," said Gwaine, and everyone laughed. Lancelot wasn't vain, Arthur knew, but he was far from ugly. "Between you and Leon, we've almost enough celibates to form a monastery."

"I am not celibate!" protested Leon.

"Prove it."

Leon turned nearly as red as his hair. "Just because I haven't been with anyone in a few weeks—"

"A few _weeks_?"

"—just because I don't have a different woman in my bed every night and boast about it like some, doesn't mean I'm celibate!" Leon sputtered. "It's a wonder you haven't caught the pox, the way you rut about."

The others burst into laughter. "You're not going to get any stories out of him," said Elyan. "You'd have better luck asking Merlin about his tumbles."

"I—what?" Merlin looked up suddenly, like a deer who'd caught the scent of the hunters. "What are you on about?"

Percival grinned. "I've overheard the maids talking before," he said, and the other knights leaned forward eagerly, matching grins on their faces. "They say if you want the best time, go for a country lad."

"And our Merlin is definitely that," said Gwaine with satisfaction.

"Come on, Merlin," said Elyan, and the others joined him, apart from Lancelot. "Tell us about the last girl you were with."

Now it was Merlin's turn to go red in the face. Arthur wondered at first if he should rescue his servant from their teasing, but if there was one thing he knew Merlin was actually good at, it was holding his own in an argument. He'd give them a proper tongue-lashing if they went too far.

Arthur almost hoped they would, just so he could listen to Merlin tear into them.

"Was she pretty?"

"Tell us, Merlin!"

Of course it was Gwaine who put in, "Did she do that thing with her tongue—"

"No!" said Merlin. "No, I imagine she didn't do… whatever you're thinking of."

"So what _did_ she do?" asked Percival, and at this point, even Lancelot looked curious.

"Just… the usual, I suppose."

"The _usual?"_ Now Gwaine was throwing fish bones at him. "That's all you're going to say?"

"Merlin, have you even been with a woman?" asked Elyan, sitting up slowly.

"Of course I have!"

"Guys, lay off," said Leon. "Maybe he fancies men instead."

"Wh—no, I don't really fancy—"

"Then come on, Merlin, stop spluttering and tell us!"

"I've been with a woman," snapped Merlin. "Only it's not really any of your business, is it?"

"Not if she was your soulmate, I suppose," said Gwaine, and Arthur was surprised at the surge of jealousy he felt at the thought.

"No, she wasn't my soulmate. And I suppose I shouldn't say 'woman' because we were both young. It was the first time for both of us."

"Merlin of Essetir," said Gwaine. "Are you telling me you've only been with someone once?" He tossed his hair. "Because I'd be happy to show you what you've been missing."

"I'd have to actually _miss it_ first, wouldn't I?" shot Merlin irritably. Then he sighed. "The only way to get you lot off my back is to tell this story, isn't it?"

"Yes," the knights chorused. Even Leon.

"Then shut up and let me tell it." Arthur hid a grin. They were so close to getting Merlin to tell them off completely. At the same time, though, Arthur found himself wanting to give his friend an out if he wanted it. It was… disconcerting.

"Her name was Edith," said Merlin. "And as I said, it was the first time for both of us. The older boys wouldn't shut up their boasting, like _some_ people I've met, and even the girls were getting together and whispering about what it was like. Edith and I, we just wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so we did it. Waited for a proper festival and a bonfire, when everyone was pairing up and heading off into the woods or the hayloft or wherever, and we took ourselves off."

"And?" asked Percival.

"And what? It was nice enough."

"Nice enough." Elyan looked skeptical. "Sounds like it wasn't much, if that's all you've got to say about your first time."

"Ah, no one's any good their first time," said Gwaine. "We've all got to start somewhere." He threw another fish bone at Merlin, who scowled. "I'm sure she forgave you."

" _Edith_ didn't have anything to forgive," said Merlin. "I paid attention to what the boys said, thank you very much, and I made sure she enjoyed it. She wanted to go again, so we did, a few times over the next couple of months."

"Surprised you didn't marry her," said Percival. He sounded serious. "Her parents didn't make an arrangement with yours?"

Merlin just shrugged again, the motion a bit stiff, and Arthur remembered that Merlin had grown up without a father. He likely hadn't had many prospects for marriage as a result. "It was all right," he was saying. "We weren't in love or anything; just curious. I never did figure out what the fuss was all about. Eventually we parted ways, and Edith took up with the miller's son not too long after. Last I heard, they married and were happy."

"She wanted to go again?" asked Elyan. He was wearing a puzzled little frown on his face. "Not you?"

"I—well…"

"You said you never figured out what the fuss was about."

"And I didn't. I still don't see it," said Merlin simply. "I think all you lot like to boast and exaggerate and make it sound like this maddening, earth-shattering thing, but it's not." He picked up a stick and poked at the fire. "It's nice enough. I'd give it another go if a woman asked—I _have_ , in Camelot, once or twice—but all this rot about craving it and being desperate for someone's touch? Pssh."

The knights were all silent for a moment, taking that in. "You're serious," said Percival.

"Well, yeah. I mean—all right, you remember the last feast, where that minstrel sang the song about the shepherdess who seduced a king? How he was _so intoxicated_ with her beauty that he gave her the entire kingdom, and then when she was queen she killed him?" Merlin rolled his eyes. "You lot _all_ sound like that. It's rubbish."

"Merlin," said Lancelot slowly. "That was a true story. It was King Clement of Mercia; Bayard's uncle. It was before our time, of course, but there was a war that lasted over ten years just to get the kingdom back into the hands of one of Clement's descendants."

Arthur was sitting near enough to see the tips of Merlin's ears turn pink. "Not much of a king, then, was he, to get so distracted by a person's face or her," he gestured vaguely at his chest, "comeliness, or whatever. Can you imagine Uther giving up his kingdom to someone just because of a tumble in the hay?"

"Well. Maybe not His Majesty, no," said Leon judiciously. "Or perhaps not to such a grave extent. But men are made fools for love all the time."

"You're really trying to tell me that there are men who actually think with their pricks instead of their brains?" asked Merlin.

"Ha! You have no idea," said Elyan. "Happens to the best of us."

Merlin shook his head. "I still think you're exaggerating."

The knights looked at one another, a bit helplessly. "Maybe you just haven't found the right person yet," said Gwaine.

Merlin grinned at that. "Someone to make me go all sheep-eyed and stupid and act like bed sport is better than anything else in the world? Not likely, thanks."

"Going a bit stupid is sometimes the best part," said Percival, and the others laughed. "Come on. Haven't you ever been in love?"

Merlin thought for a second, leaning back on his arms. "Yeah," he said softly. "Once. Or I thought I was.  She's gone now, though."

"And you never…?"

"With her? No. Never made it that far before she—died."

"I'm sorry you lost her," said Lancelot, and the others nodded.

"It's all right," Merlin replied, though Arthur could hear the sadness in his voice. "We probably never could have been together anyway." He stared into the fire for a second. "Different… stations. And all that."

"Still."

Merlin nodded.

"Well, this was a topic that turned maudlin quickly," interjected Gwaine. "All _I_ wanted to know was if you've ever been with a woman, and all _you_ had to say was that it was nice."

"It was! I liked it just fine. I just don't see why people act as if they crave it or go mad for it. Being in love has nothing to do with that part. One is your heart. The other is just… bodies."

"Are you sure you don't fancy men instead?" asked Leon. "Not as many men do, but there's nothing wrong with it."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm sure I don't _crave_ men, if that's what you mean. I suppose I could fall in love with one, if they were the right person."

"Like your soulmate?" Arthur spoke up for the first time, and the rest of them fell silent to hear him. "You told me once you thought your soulmate might be a man."

Merlin half-smiled at him. "Yeah. I'd fall in love with my soulmate. Man or woman."

"But you still wouldn't tumble them," pressed Gwaine, and Merlin sighed.

"I would if they asked, but for myself, I don't see the point, no."

"I wish you luck, either way," said Leon, "you and your soulmate." He held up his left hand, where they could all see the black heart line, and gave Merlin an identical sad half-smile. "May you meet soon and have no obstacles between you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than I usually post, but I hope you'll find it satisfying anyway. I'll be traveling a bit the first two weeks of August, so all my fics will be on a temporary hiatus until I'm back home, but fear not! None of them are abandoned.

As hot as the day had been, there was no drought upon the land, so it was perhaps no surprise that the first time Arthur woke, it was to the sound of far-off thunder. He pulled his blankets over his head and hunched his shoulders, hoping the worst of the storm would pass them by. Not long after, the hissing of rain began to patter around the clearing; Arthur sighed and rolled over, annoyed but resigned to his fate. Nothing would be ruined, and all of their belongings would dry eventually, but in the meantime they would have to wait before they could depart. Wet horses and saddles did not go well together, and a delay in their travels would be necessary.

It was almost as if the gods were trying to keep them from reaching the Isle of the Blessed, he thought drowsily, as sleep claimed him.

The second time Arthur woke, it was to a pins-and-needles sensation tingling up and down his arm. _Did I sleep on it wrong?_ he wondered, peeling his eyes open.

But no; instead, his heart line was flickering gold again, glowing faintly in the dark of the night. His soulmate was using magic.

 _What idiot is even awake at this hour?_ he thought irritably. There were no birds singing, and even the crickets sounded sleepy. It was so quiet that he could hear the river, about a hundred paces away. The thunder from before was still rumbling, but the rain seemed to have stopped. Small favors, then. Arthur probably should have been more concerned about his soulmate using sorcery at this hour, but the simple truth was that he was still more than half-asleep, and his eyes fell shut again easily enough.

When true morning came, Arthur woke slowly, dreading the part where he'd have to rig a line for his blankets to dry, and wring out his socks, and put up with clammy clothing sticking to his skin, and all the rest of it. Sleeping in the rain was unavoidable sometimes, but he still hated it.

Finally, the sleepy chatter of the other knights roused him enough that Arthur sat up, tossing his blanket aside.

It was dry. Or at least, barely damp at all, not enough to worry about it going moldy if he were to roll up his bedroll and put it away. Arthur reached for his boots, and found them to be mostly dry as well. The horses were dozing still, but their coats didn't even look damp. There were no puddles around the campfire, and no mud to squelch through as they prepared to leave.

"Didn't it rain last night?" he asked, standing up and stretching. "I heard thunder."

Lancelot shrugged. "Trees must have caught the worst of it." Beside him, Merlin was yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he prepared tea over the fire.

"I could have sworn it was heavier than this," said Elyan. "The noise woke me. It sounded like it was pouring."

Leon was squinting up at the trees surrounding their clearing, a little dubiously. "Suppose we got lucky, then."

Arthur remembered his heart line flaring gold in the night, and wondered.

* * *

 

He was going to kill Gwaine.

No, really, he really would, if he could just come up with a decent pretext.

Merlin had seemed perhaps a little quieter than usual that morning as he got things around and packed up their camp; when Arthur had asked him about it, however, he'd only mumbled something about not sleeping well. He'd seemed fine once they were all mounted up and on the road, if a little drowsy. Gwaine, though, had decided that Merlin needed cheering up for some reason, and had stuck to the other man's side for the entire ride.

Flirting.

There was no other word for it, Arthur decided, watching as Gwaine tossed his hair in the wind yet again and turned one of his blindingly bright smiles on _Arthur's servant_ ; Arthur had seen that smile before, and it usually meant that Gwaine would be back to his quarters late that night if at all, with a giggling woman on his arm the last Arthur saw of him till morning.

Merlin, thankfully, seemed more or less oblivious to Gwaine's _obvious come-ons,_ and was responding politely if a bit confusedly to all the attention. Based on the looks he kept throwing the others, Merlin seemed uncertain whether or not Gwaine was setting him up to be the butt of a joke whose punchline had yet to be revealed.

The others, of course, were no help at all. Leon and Elyan were in conversation of their own a little ways ahead, and Percival just seemed fondly amused by Gwaine's antics. Whenever Merlin looked Lancelot's way, the other knight would just shrug his shoulders in a "what can you do" sort of way and say nothing.

Arthur wasn't completely sure he liked the looks being passed between the two of them, either.

The worst part, though, was that there was nothing he could do about it. He had no reason to order Merlin away from Gwaine, no errand to set for him… and no reason to really be irritated in the first place. The fact that he was annoyed was, itself, even more annoying, only that vexation was directed at himself rather than at Merlin or Gwaine.

Arthur hadn't even realized he was staring—or more accurately, glaring—until Lancelot startled him out of his thoughts. "Gwaine doesn't mean anything by it, sire," he said. "Surely you know that."

"He only ever means _one_ thing by it," Arthur corrected.

"He wouldn't ruin his friendship with Merlin that way," replied Lancelot with a shake of his head. "Besides, you remember what Merlin said last night: he's, er, not interested. Doesn't see what the fuss is all about."

"And I suppose Gwaine is trying to fix that for him?"

Lancelot tipped his head in thought. "I don't think he'd show such disrespect to Merlin's wishes," he said finally. "I'm sure for him this is just a game."

"A game that Merlin doesn't seem to be enjoying," muttered Arthur darkly, watching the pair once more.

"I'd say it bothers you more than him, sire," said the other knight carefully. "Is something wrong?"

Arthur clenched his jaw and took a deep breath before replying. "Everything's _fine_ ," he said, and nudged his horse to move a little faster.

* * *

 

But everything _wasn't_ fine, and he had no idea why. That night, as they made camp, Arthur made sure to pull his little shaving mirror out and set it beneath his pillow; he'd forgotten to look at his destiny mark the night before, and the day's travel had mostly given him too much time to think about soulmates, heart lines, and all the rest of it. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to go without looking at his mark, but he still needed to eat dinner, get his things around for sleep, and pretend nothing of importance was on his mind.

"How much further is it to the Isle from here?" Merlin was asking, while Lancelot and Elyan mulled over their map.

"We should arrive tomorrow toward evening, if all goes well," said Elyan. "Look, we're here; see the river? We've been following it, and we're only a couple of days from Helmsford. We passed through Redhurst this morning. On our way back to Camelot we'll pass through Little Bridge, instead."

"Why do they call it Little Bridge?"

"Because 'Big Bridge' was already taken," said Lancelot with a smile. "It's farther south along the same river."

Merlin laughed, and something in Arthur warmed to hear it. Then he realized he was smiling like a fool, and turned away.

* * *

 

Finally everyone was asleep, and it was Arthur's turn for the watch. Glancing around their camp, he slipped his little mirror from under his pillow and lifted his tunic, angling his body so that the light from the fire wasn't blocked by his hand. The mirror caught the light and shone it on his chest, so that his destiny mark seemed almost to glow.

It was clearly a bird, likely some sort of hawk, with its wings and talons outstretched as if about to grasp at its prey. Looking more closely, Arthur thought the wings seemed pointed like a falcon's, and the tail almost appeared to have stripes. It was hard to tell for certain, given that the mark was under his skin and a bit blurred, but Arthur thought that if he had enough time to study it, he might be able to determine what sort of falcon it was.

Would that matter? Did destiny marks have meanings that were that clear? Arthur had always assumed that having the mark itself was significant enough: it meant you and your soulmate were destined to accomplish something great together. But he'd also heard that they could tell you a little about your soulmate, as well. What would a falcon tell him? Would knowing the type of falcon clarify anything?

"What're you doing?" Merlin's sleepy voice startled Arthur, and he dropped the mirror into his lap.

"Thought you were asleep," he said irritably. He gave a quick glance around the camp as he yanked his tunic back into place. "Everyone else still is."

Merin sniffed and rubbed at his eyes, sitting up. "My soulmate is awake," he mumbled, then yawned hugely. "Something has him agitated. Woke me up." He dragged one hand through his hair, making it stick up everywhere. "What about you?"

Arthur almost snapped that it was none of his business, but something stopped him. Hadn't he just been thinking the other day that he could talk to Merlin about these things better than he could to Lancelot?

"My heart line came in," he said quietly, and watched as Merlin seemed to come awake all at once. "And I have a destiny mark, too. I was trying to get a good look at it."

Merlin's grin was nearly brighter than the fire. "Arthur, that's brilliant!"

"I don't know if it is," he replied with a sigh. "Remember what I've told you about my father."

"Oh. Yeah. You can't marry whoever it is," said Merlin. "You have to marry for politics."

"More than that," said Arthur, "do you remember what Agnes said?"

"No, you never told me."

"She said my soulmate was a man, and that he and I would accomplish impossible things together." Arthur shook his head. "It's almost a relief that I can't marry my soulmate, since it's going to be a man, but…" He braced himself, and said the rest. "I think whoever it is has magic."

He heard Merlin's sharp intake of breath. "How… how can you know that?"

"I've felt it," he said simply. "You know how you can feel that your soulmate is agitated? Or the other day, I felt them happy about something?" He wouldn't discuss the concern and the care he'd felt directed toward himself. "I get this… tingle, in my heart line. And it turns gold. Like a sorcerer's eyes."

"Really?"

Arthur nodded. "Just a flicker, but it's there. Last night when it was raining I woke up and my heart line was glowing, under the blankets. And this morning everything was dry in our camp."

"That could have just been luck," said Merlin. "Like Leon said."

"Maybe. But from the thunder and the sound of rain, I would have expected us to be much wetter this morning when we woke."

"Mm." Merlin scrubbed his hands across his face, but he seemed tense; maybe it was because of his soulmate's mood. "And what do you think of that?" he asked. "Of your soulmate maybe having magic."

"I'm almost certain that they do," said Arthur. "And… I almost think that the reason my heart line didn't come in for so long was because I needed to accept this. To accept that magic isn't always evil. I think perhaps that not accepting it was the thing that kept me from being ready to meet them."

Merlin nodded, taking a deep breath. "Makes sense, I guess. I mean, I'm no expert on heart lines or anything, but it makes sense."

There was a glow from Arthur's heart line, then, not of light but of emotion, and Arthur smiled to feel it.

"What is it?"

"Hard to say," he replied, running his fingertips along his forearm. "My soulmate isn't sleeping either, it seems." Hope and fear seemed to vie for his attention, tangled together in a confusing mass.

"What would you do if you met them?" asked Merlin, his voice hushed. "Your soulmate. Already knowing that they have magic."

Arthur could feel the smile fade from his expression. "I don't know. And I'm not sure it matters, in any case." He sighed, and picked up the little shaving mirror, turning it over and over in his hands. "My father wants me to ignore her if she's a woman, because I have to marry for the betterment of the kingdom. I'm sure he would want me to ignore _him_ if it turns out to be a man, although perhaps he'd allow a friendship as long as I didn't neglect my wife. But to be someone with magic? I can never— _you_ must never speak of this, Merlin. To anyone. Never mind what he'd do to my soulmate. It wouldn't surprise me if Father decided to disown me, if he found out that I had even this much magic."

"But you don't have magic."

"No, but I can feel it in my soulmate, whenever they use it. Father is… fanatical enough, let's call it what it is… he might well decide that even that ability is too much magic for the Crown Prince to possess." He glanced up at Merlin then, at the way the dying firelight played across his features. "And I can't help but think of all those stupid minstrel's tales, where the soulmates turn out to be enemies. It's a sorcerer, Merlin. What are the odds that we'll finally meet on opposite sides of the battlefield?"

"It doesn't have to be that way," said Merlin.

"No, I thought of that. They could be peaceful. A druid, perhaps. But it's not as if my father will miraculously accept that, either."

The feeling from his heart line was glum now; sad, with what Arthur thought might be regret, and over all of that, still that constant glow of concern for him. That sense of caring that Arthur found himself wanting to lean into, even though he'd only just gotten acquainted with it.

"I suppose you're right." They both were silent for a while, staring at the embers of the fire before Merlin sighed. "What will you do, then?"

Arthur shook his head. "I wish I knew. I suppose it depends on them."


	8. Chapter 8

They journeyed the rest of the next day in relative quiet, Merlin probably just appreciating the sounds of nature for themselves, while Arthur appreciated the chance to be left alone with his thoughts. Not that there was much to them; he'd said everything to Merlin that there was to say. Arthur had a soulmate, who had magic, and Arthur would likely never get to be with him or her because of it and because of his father's decrees. What else was there to talk about?

Every now and again, Arthur would feel a bit of emotion from his heart line; contentment, mainly, which didn't seem to be directed at him in particular, but there was the occasional upwelling of concern, which Arthur thought might be about him. He tried to send some sort of reassurance back to his soulmate, but had no idea if his attempts were having any effect whatsoever. It wasn't as if he knew much about how heart lines worked, after all. There might well be some sort of technique to follow, and Arthur might be going about it all wrong.

Rather than stopping at their usual time, the group pressed on, hoping to reach the Isle of the Blessed before sunset. The sun was low in the sky and the light was turning gold and orange when they finally topped a rise and beheld the lake spread out below them. In the distance, Arthur could just make out an island with stone ruins on it, rising from the mist that was beginning to form over the water.

"A beautiful sight," said Lancelot, breaking the stillness.

"Eerie," countered Elyan.

"Aye," put in Gwaine. "Place looks haunted."

"It's not," said Merlin, and the others turned to face him. Arthur frowned, studying the expression on his servant's face; Merlin looked as though he were remembering something unpleasant, or as though he would rather be anywhere but here.

"You've been here before?"

"Once," Merlin replied. He did not take his eyes off the ruins.

"You never said."

"I try not to think about it." His voice was uncharacteristically grave, not at all like the gormless cheer Arthur was used to.

Before he could answer, however, Merlin had nudged his horse's flanks and begun the trek down the slope toward the shore of the lake. There was a path, old and faded now, but wide enough that it had clearly once been heavily used and well maintained.

Arthur urged his mount to catch up to Merlin's, and they rode side by side. "You didn't have any complaints about coming here when we left," he pressed.

"You're doing the right thing," said Merlin with a shake of his head. He met Arthur's gaze steadily as he went on, "Returning Morgause's ashes and laying them to rest here; it's right. It's the proper thing to do."

"But you don't like it."

"I never said that," said Merlin. "I just don't like the memories I have of this place."

"When did you ever come here? And what on earth did you do that would have you so serious?" Arthur forced a chuckle, but didn't think he was very convincing. "Are you trying to pretend to be interesting again?"

Merlin's features softened, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Something like that, sire, yes."

And Arthur noticed, of course he did, that Merlin hadn't answered his question, but by then the knights had caught up to them and Leon was asking whether they should camp on the shoreline or farther up the hill.

"You know the area, don't you, Merlin?" asked Lancelot. "Is there a good place to set up camp here?"

"I don't really know it that well," said Merlin. "I went directly to the Isle and back. But according to Gaius, this place used to see a lot of people passing through. Priestesses of the Old Religion lived on the island with their students and acolytes and whatnot, and petitioners would come to ask their help or advice. I imagine there must be somewhere around here that the petitioners used to camp. Maybe even the remains of a village."

"How did you get to the island?" asked Leon.

"There's an enchanted boat, with no oars. It was waiting on the shore when I got here."

"Convenient," remarked Gwaine.

"Enchanted?" Leon looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Merlin just shrugged. "Even though no one lives here now, maybe some of the old magic still just… works. Like a spell set up long ago, that keeps working until someone tells it to stop. Only there isn't anyone left, so…"

"You're not helping me think the place is any less haunted, you know," said Gwaine, and the others laughed, including Merlin.

"As far as I know, it's really not," he said. "I promise."

Right, then. "We still have about an hour of light left," said Arthur. "Merlin, Lancelot, help me look for an enchanted boat, if it still exists, and we'll see about getting the ashes taken care of before it gets dark. The rest of you, spread out and search for a place to camp."

"And if you don't find the boat?" asked Elyan.

"Then Morgause's ghost will have to be content with her ashes being scattered over the water instead of in the ruins."

* * *

 

Fortunately, it didn't come to that; eerie as it was, there was indeed a boat waiting at the shore, with no rope to keep it there and no oars inside to guide it. Arthur supposed that if one were a sorcerer, steering a boat with magic would be easy enough. The boat itself looked decrepit, though, and he wasn't sure how it could stay afloat without the enchantment on it that Merlin had claimed.

"Small, too," he said, half to himself.

"Sire?"

Arthur shook his head. "We'll barely be able to fit the three of us inside this thing," he clarified. "The others will have to wait their turn for a ride to the Isle, or else remain behind until we return."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Merlin. "It was only me last time."

"You never did say why you'd come."

Merlin looked away. "It doesn't matter anymore." He hefted the satchel hanging off his shoulder. "I've got the ashes here," he said. "The three of us could go now and be back by the time Leon and the others have set up camp."

It was a good thought, and Arthur nodded decisively. "The sooner we have this done, the better. Come on."

Once they'd shouted their plans to the other knights, Lancelot and Merlin climbed into the boat, and Arthur gave it a little push off from the shore; there was a brief tingle along his arm, and they started to move. Strange, that. Was he becoming more sensitive to magic in general, or was his soulmate keeping watch over him somehow from afar? It was an unnerving thought, and Arthur promptly put it out of his head.

The three of them fell into a somber silence as the boat made its way across the lake, their little vessel the only source of waves in the still water. The wind was down, and the air was damp and chill. The light of the setting sun burnished the sky in tones of red and gold, while the trees cast blue shadows across the lake. Their view of the island was obscured by the rising fog, now that they were down in it instead of looking down from the hillside.

"I hope we finish before dark," said Merlin.

"Is there a place where we can take shelter on the Isle, if it comes to that?" asked Lancelot.

"I don't know," said Merlin. "I didn't stay long last time, and it was day."

"Better to just take the boat back to camp," said Arthur, and the others nodded.

It was quiet for a perhaps a minute longer before they heard a shrieking cry echo across the water.

"Wyverns!"

Arthur bit back a curse, then spat it anyway when he heard his knights on the shore calling out to them in warning. Would the wyverns go for the men on shore, or attack their little boat? Which would be the easier target?

"Dammit, you idiot," said Arthur, not taking his eyes off the sky, " _why_ didn't you think to mention the wyverns?!"

"Because there _weren't_ any when I was here!" Of course there hadn't been; Merlin wouldn't have been able to manage them on his own.

"Merlin, stay down," Arthur said, standing up and unsheathing his sword. At the other end of the boat, Lancelot did the same, and they both spread their feet wide for balance as the little vessel rocked precariously. "There!"

There were three wyverns circling overhead, and as he watched, two of them broke off and flew toward the shore. The four knights there against two wyverns should be an easy fight, Arthur thought with relief. It was the one preparing to dive at their boat that had him worried. Two knights should be able to dispatch it easily, but with limited mobility and some pretty severe balance issues, things could go badly for them if the luck of the gods wasn't on their side.

 _Soulmate, if you really are watching over me, now would be a good time to offer some help_ , thought Arthur, as the remaining wyvern tucked in its wings and dropped out of the sky toward them.

"Down!" called Lancelot, and Arthur dropped as the wyvern swooped, close enough to ruffle his hair as the other knight swung his blade. There was a hiss as the blade slid along its scaly hide, and a screech from the wyvern, but it kept flying and gained altitude, preparing to dive at them again.

"Did you get it?"

"There's blood on my blade."

Carefully, Arthur stood again, and on the wyvern's next dive, he was able to get in a swing of his own. The beast shrieked fit to make his ears ring, and faltered before flying away. "Ha!"

" _Arthur look out!_ " called Merlin, and Arthur nearly unbalanced himself spinning to see another wyvern flying straight for him. Before he could even raise his blade, there was a race of pins and needles up his arm, and the wyvern was knocked off course. Like the first one, however, it only banked and flapped its wings, recovering in midair and gaining the height it needed for another dive. There were more shrieks, and in the gathering dark, Arthur thought he spotted at least four more shapes, circling and snapping at one another as they vied to be the first to reach their prey.

"They've brought friends!"

"I see them," said Lancelot. "Merlin, still all right?"

"I'm fine. You're the ones standing up in a rocking boat."

Arthur grinned. "We'll be fine as long as they keep diving one at a time."

Of course, that was when he spotted two of them breaking free and swooping down, coming at them from opposite directions. _Damnation._ "Lancelot—"

"I see them."

"Back to back!"

Arthur stepped as carefully as he could, but even so, the boat rocked and nearly capsized as he and Lancelot shifted positions. He felt Merlin throw his weight to the other side of the boat and restore their balance, and not a moment too soon as the wyverns struck.

Arthur swung, and his target took a nasty gash to the side of its neck, hitting the water with a shriek and a splash. It foundered in the water, splashing helplessly and croaking once before disappearing beneath the surface. The boat rocked as Lancelot swung his blade, but Arthur dared not turn to look.

If the gods had any mercy at all, the first kill of the night would have scared off the other wyverns, but instead it seemed only to enrage them. There were more shrieks, and in the dim light Arthur spotted the entire flock tucking in their wings and plummeting straight toward them. _Not good, not good_ …

Arthur's blade was a blur of motion as the wyverns struck en masse; he barely noticed the tingle down his arm as two of the beasts faltered in their dive, but then the rest were upon them in a swarm. Somewhere in there, he stepped on Merlin in the bottom of the boat and nearly lost his balance, but the other man wrapped his arms around Arthur's leg and anchored him, just enough that he could recover.

A wing slapped him across the face, and claws scraped loudly across his armor; his sword bit and sliced, and the shrieks of the wyverns were deafening. He couldn't duck fast enough as one of them raked at his scalp, and he felt blood trickle down the side of his head. Two more of the beasts hit the water with loud splashes, and did not recover.

And then Lancelot gave a cry of pain and stumbled, tripping over Merlin and crashing into Arthur's back. The boat rocked once, twice, as Arthur struggled to right his balance, then a wyvern slammed into him and he went over the side.

A man in armor sinks like a stone in deep water.

Arthur let go his sword and swam as hard as he could, but the water was so dark he scarcely knew which way was up. He had been panting with exertion and didn't catch a good breath before he went under, but still he fought for the surface… to no avail. If he was lucky, he was only slowing his descent. He was going to die here, in the lake, and they wouldn't even be able to recover his body for a proper funeral.

Muffled, above the water, he heard Merlin's shout, and then a splash. _You idiot,_ thought Arthur, _you'll only drown too, trying to save me._ Somehow, that thought made it even worse. Arthur was supposed to protect Merlin, not get him killed because he was loyal beyond all sense or reason.

Arthur's lungs burned with the need to take a breath;  there was water up his nose, making him want to cough and choke. His arms felt like lead, and his legs, wrapped in layers of armor and clothing, felt as though they were weighted down with bricks every time he tried to kick. The depth of the water was pressing on his chest and making his head pound.

Then his heart line _burned._

For just a few seconds, the water around him lit up almost as bright as day, a blue-white color that Arthur had seen once before, in the Caves of Balor while searching for the flower that would save Merlin's life. Arthur's eyes grew wide, but the light dimmed… and then in the dark he felt a hand on his collar, tugging him upward.

The burn in his heart line did not fade, and he felt himself rising faster and faster through the water. He had to close his eyes against the rush of the current, until finally he burst above the surface like a leaping fish, actually flying into the air before coming back down with a resounding splash.

He flailed in the water, gasping and choking, but before he could sink back under, he felt that hand on his collar again and heard Merlin's harsh breath in his ear.

"Arthur. Arthur. I've got you. Nngh. I've got—can you swim?"

And Arthur was still coughing, sputtering and struggling for breath, but he managed to gasp out, "Yes."

"That way." Merlin wrapped one arm around Arthur's chest, and their legs tangled together as they both began to kick.

"Lancelot? The wyverns?"

"Wyverns are gone," panted Merlin. "Lancelot—still with the boat, I think."

Arthur got his arms coordinated again, and they began to make faster time. Across the lake, he heard shouting, but couldn't make out the words. The other knights must have heard him and Merlin go in.

It was a miracle that he was alive. No; Arthur could still feel the magic coursing through is heart line, lighting up the  destiny mark on his chest. It was _magic_ that he was still alive.

Magic, cast by his soulmate.

His soulmate, who was Merlin.

"Merlin?" he heard Lancelot call.

"Here! I've got him."

"You're all right?"

"We're both fine," called Arthur, his voice hoarse from the water he'd swallowed. He coughed again, clearing his lungs, and Merlin tightened his grip around Arthur's chest. "We're both fine," he said again, more quietly. He reached up and clasped Merlin's forearm, and felt Merlin's answering squeeze.

He floated, as light in the water as if his armor were made of cork, his heart line full of magic, as he and Merlin swam to safety.

"Lost my sword," he said, after he'd managed to catch his breath a little.

"We'll get you a new one," said Merlin. Something about his voice seemed off, but Arthur just marked it down to exertion. It couldn't be every day that he swam across a lake while hauling a full-grown man in armor.

Was it really Merlin? Could his manservant of all people have magic? Could his manservant be his soulmate?

There was only one way to find out and it would have to wait until they reached the shore.

* * *

 

Though the magic didn't fade, judging by the pins and needles all up and down Arthur's arm, Merlin himself seemed to be flagging. The only sounds Arthur could make out were their harsh breaths, echoing against the water, and the ripple and splash as they swam for safety. In the gathering dark and rising mist, it was impossible to see how far they had traveled or how much longer it would take to reach the Isle, and it felt as if they had been swimming for longer than they should have.

"Be just our luck to miss the island and swim clear across the lake," said Arthur.

"Not as funny as you think you are," grunted Merlin; hearing his voice was a relief.

"Sire?" That was Lancelot's voice; there was a hollow wooden thump nearby, and Arthur realized he could hear the sound of waves washing gently up against something. "Merlin. Over here. I can see you."

"We're in the fog," said Arthur. "Keep talking."

"You've only a few more paces to go," said Lancelot. "The boat brought me to a landing. That's it. Here, reach up, I can take your hand if you come just a bit closer."

"Merlin, you go first."

"No," he said, and again there was that strain in his voice. "I'm not in armor. You go. I can push and Lancelot can pull."

"He's right, sire," said Lancelot. "You and I can pull Merlin up easily, once you're on land."

Arthur reached up and heard the squelch as Lancelot got a strong hold on his sodden gloves. With his free hand, he reached out and felt the stone wall, just in front of his face; he searched for a good foothold but the stone was slick with algae under the surface. Still, Merlin pushed and Lancelot pulled, and between them Arthur managed to get an elbow up, then a knee, until he was hauling himself onto solid ground.

As soon as Merlin let go of him, the magic tingling in Arthur's heart line disappeared. All the weight of Arthur's armor came back in a rush and he groaned, feeling like he might collapse under it as he crawled, exhausted, away from the ledge so that he could turn and reach for Merlin.

"Let me get under your arm," Lancelot was saying. "There, that's it. I've got you."

Merlin gave a short, sharp cry as he struggled up, and then Arthur was there, on Merlin's other side, grabbing his shirt front and then the waist of his pants, pulling him to safety. Unlike Arthur, Merlin barely made it up onto land before he collapsed onto his stomach, ribs heaving with exertion. His feet were still dangling out over the edge of the landing, but he wouldn't get up.

"Come on, Merlin, this is no time to be lazy," said Arthur. The wyverns could come back at any moment; they needed to get under a roof if at all possible. He reached out to shake his friend, but Merlin flinched and hissed at his touch, and Arthur frowned. "Merlin?"

"Arthur." Lancelot caught his attention, and held up his bare hand.

His fingers were dark with Merlin's blood.


	9. Chapter 9

"Merlin!"

They turned him over, and Arthur let out a breath when he saw that the other man's eyes were still open. "'M fine," he said. "Just… hurts a little."

Arthur reached for the hem of Merlin's tunic and ripped it open, then bared his teeth in a grimace as the sodden fabric peeled away from the other man's skin. Deep gouges wrapped from Merlin's side down across his chest and into his stomach. Claw marks. "Wyverns got you."

"Yeah. Sorry." Merlin's breathing was not slowing down, and the blood mixed with lake water was covering his entire side and belly, and beginning to pool beneath him on the stones of the landing.

"Sire, we need to stop this bleeding. Being in the water can't have helped him any."

"At least they're clean?" tried Merlin, his smile flashing in the twilight. It was almost too dark to see.

"We need light," said Arthur. "Or else to dump these damned ashes and get back in the boat as fast as we can. Get him back to camp."

"I left my kit with the horses," said Lancelot. He was already pulling off his cloak and tearing it into strips. The sound was loud in the still air.

"That's not what I meant." Arthur reached out and gripped Merlin's shoulder. "Can you do it? Can you make a light?"

Merlin's breath left him in a rush and he flinched under Arthur's grip. "What?" Merlin asked, at the same time as Lancelot spoke.

"Sire—"

"Merlin has magic. He saved my life with it."

"Arthur—"

"Sire—surely you must be—"

"Arthur, I'm—I don't—"

"Merlin, I _know_. It was hard not to figure it out in the water."

"Arthur." Merlin's voice was a harsh whisper, and even Lancelot fell still, waiting to see what happened next. From Arthur's heart line, he could feel his soulmate's fear—as if he needed further confirmation—and it hurt to know that he was the cause of it.

"We can talk about it later, all right?" said Arthur. "For now I just want to know if you're able to make a light. I hate to ask, since you're hurt, but we don't have any other option. You don't have to do anything else. And if you can't do it, it's all right. We'll figure something out."

Heard the click of Merlin's throat as he swallowed heavily. "I can do it." His voice shook, and Arthur thought he sounded more terrified about the magic—about the confession, really—than he did about his injuries.

"Then get on with it," he said, as gently as he could. "Don't be a, a _lazy daisy,_ just over a few scratches."

Merlin's teeth flashed again as he smiled. Never taking his eyes off of Arthur, he said something, a single word that Arthur didn't understand. His eyes flashed gold, and Arthur felt the brief tingle, the telltale pins-and-needles sensation up his arm from his palm to his heart.

"It _is_ you," he breathed, even as a flame burst into life beside them. He hardly noticed, still gazing into Merlin's eyes—the eyes of his soulmate.

"Sire," said Lancelot. "Help me lift him."

Arthur shook himself, and started folding pads from Lancelot's dry cloak to press against Merlin's wounds. Merlin bit back a cry, clenching his eyes shut as his expression twisted. Arthur lifted, and Lancelot reached around Merlin's torso to tie the pads into place.

"How bad is it?" asked Merlin, panting. He raised his head to see, and Arthur put a hand on his forehead to settle him back down.

"Best if you don't look," he said. "Makes it hurt worse if you can see it."

"It already hurts." Another thrill of fear came from Arthur's heart line. "Is it that bad?"

"Gaius would probably want to stitch you up," he admitted. "But you know what he's like. Stitches for every little thing. These are nothing."

"Not sure I believe you," said Merlin with a breathless little laugh.

"Yes, well. If we can find another healer before Camelot, we'll get you seen to."

"I'd rather wait for Gaius, if it's all the same to you."

"We'll see," said Arthur, trading a look with Lancelot.  The other knight's expression was grave, and it was clear that he understood: they might not get a choice about letting Merlin's treatment wait for the rest of their journey. "Now, please tell me that you didn't drop Morgause's ashes overboard when you went in after me."

Merlin shook his head. "Left them in the boat. Wasn't sure if the boat would capsize when I jumped, though."

"I've got them here, sire," said Lancelot. He reached behind him for Merlin's satchel. He rummaged inside for a moment, then pulled out a little stone urn sealed with wax. "Here."

"Right." Arthur pulled himself to his feet. "Wonder if there's somewhere I should take these, or if anywhere on the Isle will do."

"There's a stone circle surrounding an altar, between three ruined buildings," said Merlin. "Help me sit up."

"You're not going anywhere," said Arthur.

"There are words," Merlin grunted, struggling to rise. Lancelot, the traitor, got one of Merlin's arms across his shoulders and helped him to stand, but Merlin's legs threatened to buckle out from under him. "Whoa. Dizzy."

"You've lost a lot of blood," said Lancelot.

"Which is why you need to _stay here_ ," pressed Arthur.

"'S important," Merlin insisted. "There are words. To lay her to rest. She was a priestess of the Old Religion. You have to say the words."

"So tell me what to say!"

Merlin shook his head. "Wouldn't work if you said them."

Arthur released an exasperated sigh. "A spell. You're talking about a spell."

Merlin nodded, then sagged into Lancelot's grip.

Stubborn, mule-headed, duplicitous… "What were you going to do if I hadn't figured out about the magic?" asked Arthur.

"Say them very _quietly,_ after your back was turned."

Of course he would. "Unbelievable," Arthur muttered, but stalked over to get Merlin's other arm across his shoulders. "Show us where."

Merlin's eyelashes fluttered, but he said something else in the magic tongue, and the fire lifted off the ground and floated over in front of him. With a lift of his chin, the flames rose until they were floating over Merlin's head, and no longer shining in their eyes. It was the perfect torch. "That way," he said, sounding a little breathless.

"Don't wear yourself out, idiot."

"'M not." He stumbled over his own feet, but Lancelot and Arthur were able to keep him upright. He hissed as the motion pulled against his wounds. "Through that doorway. It's not far."

And indeed, once they'd stepped through the doorway, their flame showed them a paved path leading to another archway, and on the other side of the arch was the stone circle. Merlin staggered between them, swaying and catching himself every few steps as his head began to loll.

"Stay with us, Merlin," said Lancelot.

"Tired," said Merlin. His breathing had remained quick and shallow the entire time they'd been on land. It was a bad sign; bleeding into the water had kept the wounds from closing, and he'd been exerting himself besides. Arthur had no way to know how much blood he'd lost as a result.

"Just a little farther and then you can rest," said Arthur. "I might even give you a day off once we're back in Camelot."

"That never happens."

"Yes, well, you saved my life."

"Do that all the time."

Arthur did a double-take, but decided he would ask about it later. They would have plenty to talk about, after all. This could just be one more question for Merlin to answer. "If you say so."

"Yep."

"The boat is enchanted," said Lancelot. "It should take us back to shore on its own, right? You can rest as soon as we're in the boat."

"It's not really enchanted," confessed Merlin. "Except maybe to stay afloat. Thing's ancient."

They'd finally reached the altar, and Arthur took out the urn and set it in the center. "Should we open it?"

"Scatter them on the altar," said Merlin. He leaned heavily on Lancelot while Arthur cracked the wax seal and did as Merlin suggested. "Step back."

Arthur got his arms around Merlin again, looking at the scattered bits of bone and ash on the stone altar, and tried not to shiver.

"Morgause. Morgause. _In sibbe gereste,_ Morgause." Merlin almost sighed the words, and the tingle that arose in Arthur's heart line felt gentle in comparison. The ashes glowed, then burst into ghostly blue flames. As they watched, the flames died down, then a wind from behind them blew the ashes across the altar and off into the dark.

Standing opposite them, on the other side of the altar, was Morgause. Arthur could see through her, and he shivered. She looked younger than when he had last seen her, and there was nothing malicious in her gaze. At least, Arthur hoped there wasn't.

Morgause looked at the three of them for a long moment before making eye contact with Merlin. She mouthed a single word, then gave him a rueful smile and a respectful bow of her head, before vanishing entirely. The last of the flames on the altar went out, leaving them with only Merlin's fire to see by.

"It's done," said Merlin. He slurred the words, and Arthur felt his worry for his servant—friend— _soulmate_ —go up another notch.

"What did she say?" asked Lancelot.

Merlin shook his head, the motion loose and barely controlled. "Doesn't matter."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Merlin."

The other man sighed. "She called me Emrys. The druids call me that. Dunno what it means, but they do."

With an effort, they got the three of them turned around and headed back toward the boat. Merlin was visibly flagging, wavering in and out of consciousness. Every few steps, his chin would drop to his chest and his legs would buckle, then either Arthur or Lancelot would shake him to wake him back up.

"You have to send the boat back to shore, Merlin," said Arthur. "Once you've done that, you can rest."

"'Kay." He stumbled another few steps in silence. "Rest. Right."

"Just a few more steps," said Lancelot.

"Jus' a few more steps…" His eyes drooped closed and his chin dropped again, and Arthur shook him. "Arthur?"

"I'm here. Don't pass out on me yet."

"Not gonna pass out." His knees gave way again, giving the lie to his words. "Jus' tired."

It was a struggle, but they managed to get Merlin into the boat, followed by Lancelot and Arthur, without capsizing anybody.

"Merlin? Merlin." Arthur nudged his shoulder, and the other man's eyes fluttered open, barely focusing on him. "You need to put out the fire, and make the boat move. Can you do that?"

"You don't know about my magic," said Merlin faintly.

"I do, and it's all right. We'll talk about it once you're well again."

"You do?"

"Yes. Now come on. Put out the fire, or other people will see."

Merlin's eyes widened a bit at that, and they were abruptly plunged into darkness. The fog and stillness made it seem as if they were the only three people in the world, as Lancelot pushed them away from the landing and out into the channel. There was a tingle in Arthur's heart line, as he saw Merlin's eyes barely flicker gold before falling shut.

"Merlin?"

This time, the other man did not stir.

"Let him rest," said Lancelot. "He's earned it."

"He's not _sleeping_ , and you know it," retorted Arthur. "He's lost too much blood. If we're not careful, we may lose _him_."

"We won't let that happen." Lancelot sounded so confident; Arthur hoped he was right.

He took a deep breath and ran one hand through his hair, wincing as he caught on the scratch on his scalp. "You seem to be taking his revelation pretty calmly."

"You mean his magic?"

"Keep your voice down," warned Arthur. "Sounds carry over the water, and I don't think I want the other knights to know yet."

He could hear the frown in Lancelot's voice. "You didn't tell them about your heart line, either."

"No." Arthur sighed. "It just didn't seem the right time for it. Now, though… but I don't know how any of them would react to Merlin being a—being a sorcerer. I can't risk it. Swear to me that you'll keep his secret."

Lancelot smiled, the expression barely visible in the dark. "I swear it."

If Arthur didn't know better, he'd swear there was an undercurrent of amusement in Lancelot's voice. "Something funny?"

"No, sire. It's only… well, I suppose you'll learn this eventually; I knew about his magic already."

"You… what?" That Merlin would have told Lancelot and not him… it hurt. Fortunately, Lancelot seemed to understand what Arthur did not say.

"I found out by accident. Do you remember when that griffin was rampaging through the kingdom?"

Merlin had been practicing magic that long? That had been years ago. "I remember I couldn't defeat it."

"No. It turns out that a creature of magic can only be defeated with a magic weapon. Merlin enchanted my lance; I heard him speaking the spell from a hiding place near the road." Lancelot chuckled. "And it was a bit hard to miss the way my weapon began to glow in the dark right before I struck. He was terrified when I approached him, but I promised his secret was safe with me. It still is."

Arthur nodded, and rested a hand on Merlin's head. "You're a good friend."

"He deserves it," Lancelot said simply.

"He does." Arthur nodded again, and swallowed. "I think he's my soulmate."

Lancelot paused, watching him. "You're not certain?"

Arthur thought of the tingle in his heart line whenever Merlin cast magic, and the way he could feel Merlin's fear coming from him when they'd spoken earlier. He thought of the concern and care he'd felt in previous days, and how badly he'd wanted to lean into that feeling. The knowledge that that care was coming from Merlin was… strange, but not unwelcome. If anything, it made Arthur feel even safer about trusting the sensation.

"No, I'm certain," he said. "We just haven't taken hands yet to prove it."

"I'd wondered." When Arthur glanced up, Lancelot continued, "The way the two of you behave around one another… you fit well together. It makes sense that you would be soulmates, or near to it."

"I've never really thought of him that way," admitted Arthur. "And you'd said that my heart line suggested…" He couldn't quite make himself say the words.

"Love without lust," said Lancelot.

"Yes, that." Arthur cleared his throat. "I've never thought of him _that_ way, either."

"I've not met my soulmate, myself," Lancelot reminded him. "Perhaps you can ask Elyan, or Gwaine and Percival, what it was like for them when they first met. I can only speculate."

"And what do you speculate?"

"That you need to give it time. Love doesn't grow overnight. Do you remember what we learned in Helmsford at Agnes's trial? Gawant and Birgitte were soulmates, but they'd barely known one another a month before they were married."

"I remember."

"According to the witnesses, the child came soon after. They would have been together less than a year before the birth that took her life." Arthur shuddered at the thought of losing his soulmate so soon; Lancelot saw him, and gentled his voice. "It's only that I can't imagine that they knew one another well enough to have much of a marriage. Certainly they moved too quickly to have a family, according to Agnes and a lot of the women who testified."

"And Birgitte died because of it. Yes, I see your point. At least Merlin and I know one another better than that." He thought of the magic, the great secret Merlin had to have been keeping from him, and frowned. "Or rather, I thought we did."

"You do, sire," said Lancelot. "I can't say for certain, of course, but I would guess that he's wanted to tell you about his magic for a long time."

Arthur sighed. "And I wasn't ready. It took until only recently for my heart line to come in, and it was because I wasn't prepared to accept that magic could be anything other than evil."

"And now Merlin knows for a fact that you're ready, because your heart line has come in," said Lancelot. "You're already friends, for all that you might protest that the difference in your stations prevents it. Now, without this secret between you, it's entirely possible that your friendship will grow into something more."

Arthur couldn't help the little huff that escaped. "According to our heart lines, it's _destined_ to grow into something more."

"But that growth isn't instantaneous. Give yourselves time, and trust that it will come, rather than trying to force it."

"As Gawant did."

"Aye, sire."

They were quiet for a few minutes; a fitful breeze ruffled his hair now and again, and Arthur shivered, feeling his wet clothing sticking to his skin. He peeled off his cloak and draped it over Merlin. It was just as soaked as the rest of him, but wool could keep a person warm even when it was wet, and Merlin needed the warmth more than Arthur did.

"What happened to the wyverns?" he asked.

"I'm not sure." Lancelot shrugged. "They were swarming us until you went over the side, and I know I killed at least two more. Then I heard Merlin scream, and the remaining wyverns were blasted back. The ones that weren't knocked into the water flew away, right before he jumped in after you."

"So his magic saved us again."

"I don't know that for certain, but I believe so, yes."

Arthur shook his head. "I wonder how powerful he is."

"You'd have to ask him."

"I will." The questions were piling up, in fact. Arthur had a feeling he should be a lot angrier than he was about Merlin's deceit over the years, but he couldn't find it in him to muster up anything more than worry for the man who had turned out to be his soulmate.


	10. Chapter 10

"Can you see the shoreline yet?"

"We should be close," said Lancelot. "I'm not sure we want to call for the others, though. It seemed to attract the wyverns, last time."

"It's possible," admitted Arthur.

Fortunately, they didn't have much longer to wait before trees began to rise out of the mist, black shapes against a nearly-black sky. The fog wasn't as thick so close to land, and after another minute, Arthur was able to make out the glow of a fire a little way inland.

The boat slid against the sandy lake bed, and Arthur, sitting in the bow, hopped out to pull it up into the reeds. He was soaked to the skin already from his near-drowning; wading about near the shore wasn't going to make him any wetter.

"Sire? Lancelot, Merlin?" Leon's voice sounded from nearby. "Is that you?"

"Over here."

Arthur took Merlin from Lancelot's arms and balanced him across his shoulders as the other knight climbed out of the boat; Merlin felt too light against him, his breath still too shallow and quick. He did not stir, even when Arthur tripped against a hidden tree root and nearly lost his balance in the shallows.

"Thank every god you're alive," said Leon as he met them. He stopped in his tracks when he realized that only two men were standing before him. "I can't see, sire; which of you is hurt?"

"Which one of us wasn't wearing any armor when the wyverns attacked?" asked Arthur dryly.

"Oh, no. Merlin… how bad is it?"

"We didn't get a good look in the dark," said Lancelot, glancing at Arthur, "but he was scratched pretty deeply. He's passed out from blood loss."

"Merlin and Elyan both carry medicinal herbs. I'll have Elyan see if there's anything in there to help stop bleeding."

"We'll do everything we can for him," said Arthur, as they stepped into the clearing where Leon and the others had made their camp. "And I mean everything. He saved my life." _And this isn't the first time,_ he left unsaid _._ Every knight there already knew it.

"So you really did go into the water," said Gwaine, as Percival stepped up to help lay Merlin out on his bedroll. "We couldn't see, but that was what it sounded like. How did he pull you out?"

"He's a stronger swimmer than you'd think from looking at him," Arthur lied. Although perhaps it was the truth; there seemed to be a lot about Merlin that Arthur was only now realizing he didn't know.

"We were closer to shallow water than we realized," put in Lancelot. Arthur wondered how many other times the seemingly perfect knight had lied to protect his friend's secret.

"You're looking a little ghastly yourself, there, Princess." Gwaine gestured toward the side of his head, where Arthur had taken a scratch of his own. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel the blood sliding down the side of his face and along the back of his ear. No doubt the water had made it look even worse. "And Lancelot, I see you're favoring your arm."

"I got bitten, but my armor took the worst of it," said Lancelot. Arthur hid a wince; he hadn't even thought to ask if the other knight had taken any injury, and he remembered hearing him cry out right before Arthur had gone overboard.

"Both of you, sit down and let us tend to you."

"Stop trying to order me about, Gwaine," said Arthur with a tired smile.

"Never in a million years, Princess." His words said one thing, but his hands as he helped Arthur to a fallen log and out of his maille shirt and waterlogged gambeson said something else. They weren't Merlin's hands, but they still meant safety, and a wave of exhaustion suddenly swept over Arthur, so profound that he swayed on his seat, his eyes falling shut. "Arthur?"

"Just tired."

Lancelot looked up sharply. "Merlin said the same thing."

"Merlin and I both went for a swim," Arthur waved him off. "A bit more exercise than I was expecting for today, that's all." He hissed as Elyan pressed a poultice to the side of his head.

Then Gwaine lifted Arthur's tunic over his head, and froze. "Well, now. That's new."

The entire camp fell quiet, even Elyan and Leon looking up from tending Merlin, to see Arthur's heart line, bold and dark against his skin in the firelight.

"I know," said Arthur. "It came in a few days ago."

"Nice destiny mark you have," said Gwaine, trying to keep things light by way of being scandalous. He might as well have been commenting on Arthur's manhood, and the prince felt his face flush red. "A falcon of some kind?"

Despite his embarrassment, Arthur actually laughed, realizing suddenly what the striped tail on his mark meant. "It's a merlin." God, he'd been such a fool. How many other signs would turn out to be obvious in retrospect?

Gwaine sat back on his heels, and Percival looked up from where he'd been tending to Lancelot. "You're kidding," said Gwaine.

"Pay up," said Percival.

"Pay—you had a bet going about this?" Arthur wasn't sure whether to be amused or offended… which, when he thought about it, was pretty much how he'd spent every day of his life since Merlin had come along.

"I'm not paying until they tell us whether they're lovers or heart friends," said Gwaine. "It's hard to tell in the firelight, but your line doesn't look quite blue or red."

Arthur took a breath. "That's because it's not either of those," he said quietly. "Do you remember when Merlin told us he wasn't interested in… all of that?"

"Pleasures of the flesh?" Gwaine raised an eyebrow, but politely ignored Arthur's rising blush. "Aye." He glanced back and forth between Arthur and the pallet where Merlin lay, nearly hidden behind Leon and Elyan. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," said Gwaine. "Only you don't fancy men, and Merlin doesn't fancy sex. But you say you're not heart friends."

"It's not really your business," Arthur began irritably, but Lancelot cut him off.

"Purple heart lines are rare," he said. His own red line gleamed in the firelight against his bare chest; Percival was nearly finished wrapping his arm. "But I've seen them before. It's said the love between soulmates with purple heart lines is more pure for being free of lust."

"So you're in love with Merlin?"

"They might not be soulmates," said Leon, just pulling a blanket over Merlin's prone form. "It doesn't matter what His Highness's destiny mark looks like—and that wasn't any of our business anyway, Gwaine, thanks—neither of their heart lines has turned silver."

"We didn't exactly get a chance to _hold hands_ while he was busy saving my life," said Arthur with a roll of his eyes.

"But you think they will," said Gwaine.

"I told you, pay up," said Percival with a rare smile.

"If you're all quite finished prying into our business…" He waited, but the other knights had finally fallen silent, even Gwaine. "…how is he?"

"It's not good," said Elyan, sitting back on his heels. "Those claw marks are deep, and they went between his ribs when they wrapped around Merlin's side. I'm no physician, but I don't like his breathing, either."

"What can we do?"

"For now? Change the poultices every few hours until we run out of the proper herbs, or until the bleeding stops. Keep him warm, hope he wakes. Get broth and fluids down him as much as we can while he is awake. I'd be happier if we could stitch the gouges, but none of us here has that skill."

"Was there a healer in Redhurst?" Arthur asked. "Someone we could bring here to tend him?"

"It's nearly a full day's ride to Redhurst," said Leon. "We're a bit closer to Little Bridge, though not by much."

"Yeah, but does Little Bridge have a healer either?"

"We could send riders in both directions, come morning," suggested Gwaine.

Arthur wanted to send them now, but Gwaine was right. Sunrise was the earliest they could do anything about Merlin's condition, and even then they'd have to wait a half day or more for the healer to return. "Which of you has the fastest horse?" he asked.

* * *

 

After some discussion, it was decided that Gwaine and Leon would set out at first light, leaving Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival to watch over and tend to Arthur and Merlin.

"I don't need tending to," Arthur said irritably.

"You nearly drowned, sire." Lancelot, ever the voice of reason.

"I never even lost consciousness. It's Merlin that needs the attention."

"I've done everything I know how to do for him, sire," said Elyan. "Although… there is one other thing we could try."

"What is it?"

Elyan looked uncomfortable, and glanced at the fire rather than making eye contact with Arthur. "It's said that soulmates heal faster when they are… in close proximity to one another. I thought, if the two of you _are_ soulmates, then perhaps we could place your bedrolls side by side. Merlin… _might_ benefit from it. But you haven't taken hands yet, so it may not do anything."

Well, it probably couldn't hurt, in any case. Wearily, Arthur nodded and made to rise, to move his bedroll over since Merlin wasn't awake to do it for him, but Gwaine's hand on his shoulder pushed him back into his seat. "Let us take care of it, Princess," he said, his voice more somber than Arthur was accustomed to from him. Arthur studied his face, but all Gwaine gave him was a half-smile and the words, "Uther would've had our heads if we'd come home without you."

It was somewhat gratifying to know that his most infuriating knight had been worried about him; the two men did not always get along, and it was largely because Gwaine seemed to be in Camelot more out of loyalty to Merlin than to the kingdom or to Arthur.

Knowing that he and Merlin were soulmates made Arthur wonder: had he been envious of the attention the two men paid each other? An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach suggested that that was the case.

"Of course," Gwaine went on, a note of deceptive idleness in his voice, "anything happens to Merlin, we just might come home without you anyway."

Ah yes, there was the Gwaine Arthur knew.

"If anything happens to Merlin, Sir Gwaine, I'm well aware that at least half the men here would turn in their cloaks and leave the kingdom." And Arthur would deserve that, would deserve to lose their loyalty if he couldn't protect the one who needed it most: the only non-warrior among them and Arthur's closest friend.

Gwaine studied Arthur's face, and must have been satisfied with what he saw there, because he smiled again. "'Course, with him likely being your soulmate, you probably don't have anything to worry about."

One corner of Arthur's mouth turned up in response. "Let's hope you're right."

* * *

 

Finally, Arthur was fed, dry, and into a clean change of clothes, and he bedded down next to Merlin, with him between Arthur and the fire. The other man still hadn't woken, which was worrisome, and his breathing was still rapid and shallow. Arthur lay on his side and watched Merlin for a few moments, letting the care and concern and worry for his friend wash over him. Knowing they were soulmates, it was as if he'd somehow been given permission to acknowledge emotions he hadn't realized he'd carried.

Was he in love with Merlin? Would Merlin really fall in love with him? Arthur couldn't say. If they were truly soulmates—and Arthur was almost completely certain that they were—then it seemed the answer would someday be yes, to both. For now, though, the notion still seemed a little far-fetched.

Arthur reached a hand out, tentatively, then glanced to see that no one else was watching before resting it on Merlin's chest, above the bandages, near his heart. It might have been his imagination, but he thought Merlin's breathing might have gotten just a little slower, a little deeper, at his touch. Arthur relaxed and let the weight of his arm rest on Merlin's body.

He wondered whether Merlin also carried a destiny mark, and what it might look like. If Merlin would ever choose to show him. He'd have to, wouldn't he, if they were soulmates? Wouldn't they share that intimacy, once their heart lines turned silver?

Of course, Merlin didn't fancy "pleasures of the flesh", as Gwaine had put it. Didn't see the point, as he'd said himself. So, maybe he'd never show his destiny mark to Arthur. Maybe he wouldn't trust him enough to do that, to show Arthur anything that was so personal and private.

He hadn't trusted him enough to tell him about the magic, after all… but then, he'd had ample reason not to. Arthur had really only completely accepted that his father was wrong about the evils of sorcery a few days ago. It had taken that long for his heart line to come in. Before that, according to every custom he knew, Arthur hadn't been _ready_ to meet his soulmate.

Hadn't been ready to truly accept all that Merlin was.

One of the things he was, was a sorcerer.

Would Arthur defend Merlin against his own father's prejudices? If it came down to a choice between them, whose side would Arthur take?

Hopefully, his life would never reach a point where such a choice had to be made.

Arthur's fingers twitched on Merlin's chest; to his surprise, Merlin sighed, then grimaced, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Merlin?" Arthur kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb the others. He sat up, studying Merlin's face.

Merlin swallowed once, then again. His eyes seemed a little unfocused; Arthur waited until his gaze shifted and he was staring blearily at Arthur.

"Hi."

Arthur couldn't help but smile. "Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty. Sore." Merlin paused, then frowned thoughtfully. "Naked?"

Arthur snatched his hand away from the blanket covering his friend. "Do you _ever_ carry a clean change of clothes?"

"Sometimes."

Elyan and Leon must have thought it too much trouble to dress him after they'd gotten him out of his wet things. "I'll look through your bag, then. See if we can't at least get some trousers on you."

"Mm. Water first."

And why was Arthur so flustered that he had forgotten about that? "Of course." There was a pot sitting beside the fire, keeping their stew warm just in case Merlin woke up; Arthur ladled a bit of the broth into a cup and brought it back along with his water skin. "Here. Both of these."

"Is it a potion?"

"It's broth, ninny. Drink up."

With a little effort, they got Merlin propped halfway to sitting, leaning against Arthur's legs; any further and he got too dizzy. Still, he was at least able to hold the water skin himself, and drank deeply before sniffing at the broth and sipping it down. "'S good."

"Do you want more?"

"In a bit." Merlin sighed. "I probably shouldn't have any of the actual stew yet. I'm hungry."

"That's a good sign, right?"

"Appetite usually is, according to Gaius." Merlin shifted, and Arthur helped him lie back down. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours. Just like you to have a lie-in over a little scratch like that."

"They don't feel all that little to me, sire," said Merlin, but the corners of his eyes were crinkling in amusement.

"No," admitted Arthur, "no, they probably don't. You saved my life. Again."

"It's nothing."

"I beg to differ."

Merlin shrugged, then winced as the motion pulled at his injuries. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Arthur tipped his head. "Yeah. You've always been like that. I could never figure out why, but…" He shook his head. "Perhaps it's because we're soulmates."

Merlin chewed on his lip for a second. "Figured that out, did you?"

Arthur blinked. "You mean you knew?"

"I thought maybe. I've suspected it might be you for a while now." Merlin was too pale from blood loss to blush, but he glanced shyly away, studying the fire before looking back at Arthur through his lashes.

God. Arthur felt even more of a fool. First his destiny mark, and now this. "You never said."

The other man shrugged again, more carefully this time. "Didn't think it would make much difference. I told you before, I'm not much of a catch, for you. What with the…" He visibly steeled himself, his voice dropping to a whisper. "…the magic, and all."

Arthur sighed. "I wish you had told me, but I understand why you didn't." He held his palm up, letting Merlin see his heart line. "I wouldn't have been ready to hear you before this came in."

"Even if you were… sire, you've pointed it out before. You're the Crown Prince of Camelot. I'm a peasant. Just a servant."

"You're not _just_ anything, Merlin," said Arthur. "Not to me. I… don't say it often, I know."

"Pssh. You _never_ say it."

Arthur started to glare at the insolent fool who thought he could talk to him like that, but then saw that Merlin was smiling as if he'd been hoping for exactly that sort of reaction. Arthur could even feel the glow from his heart line, the amusement and happiness, overlaid as always with simple caring. It was enough to make a blush rise to his cheeks, and he looked away so that Merlin would not see it and mock him for it.

"We have a lot to discuss, you and I," he said. The amusement vanished from his heart line, and Arthur immediately regretted his words.

"I know," said Merlin. "And I'm sorry. I've wanted to tell you—"

"But I wasn't ready, I know. And you're in no shape for a discussion right now anyway. But for now, just answer one question for me: have you _ever_ used your magic to harm Camelot or any of its people?"

Merlin was silent for a long time, long enough for dread to sink icy claws into Arthur's gut and heart. "I've killed," he said finally. "But they were all people who were trying to kill me. Or you, or others. I only killed in order to save lives where I could."

"Have you ever knowingly worked against Camelot or her interests?"

"No, Arthur. I swear it. I would never." And Arthur could feel the sincerity, the earnestness radiating from his heart line. The relief that washed over him was his own, but from the answering smile on Merlin's face, he had a feeling that his soulmate could feel it too.


	11. Chapter 11

"I should let you rest," said Arthur. There were so many questions he had, and ordinarily he'd have no qualms about prying answers out of his servant. It was Merlin, after all. But now Merlin was his soulmate, and recovering from a dire injury that he'd gotten while saving Arthur's life, and somehow it just didn't feel appropriate to badger him. "We'll probably wake you to check on your bandages in another few hours."

"Fair enough," said Merlin. He adjusted his blanket, then wrinkled his nose. "Smells like agrimony."

"Is that the right herb? Elyan made up the poultice."

"Gaius says agrimony helps stop bleeding. Elyan did fine."

"We're going to send Gwaine and Leon out to fetch a healer tomorrow," said Arthur. "See about getting you stitched up."

Merlin sighed. "I hate stitches, but it's probably best."

"You lost a lot of blood."

"I know. I still feel cold. My toes are freezing."

That couldn't be a good sign. "Are you sure?"

"Feel my hands," said Merlin… and he pulled his left hand out from under the blanket. Arthur could see his heart line, running all the way up his bare arm before disappearing again beneath the covers. He shouldn't have been surprised to see that it was purple, just like his.

Arthur swallowed, and looked from Merlin's hand to his eyes, which looked tired but still impish. So he did know what he was offering. Arthur felt compelled to ask anyway: "Are you sure you want me to do that?"

"I'm sure of _you_ , Arthur," replied Merlin. "Are you sure of me?"

And there was a lot that Arthur still didn't know—still didn't know much of anything about Merlin's magic, didn't know whether he was in love or even whether he wanted to be—but he did know that if there were only one person in all the world for Arthur to trust, it would be Merlin.

He reached out with his left hand, and joined their heart lines together.

The sensation was impossible to describe as anything other than what it was, but Arthur's mind fought for comparisons anyway. It was a little like plunging headfirst into icy water on a hot day; like the peace of waking to dust motes dancing in the morning sunbeams from his window; like victory in a challenging tourney, unsullied by death or despair; like the falling over the crest of orgasm. At the same time it was none of those things, but joy and birth and, and _dizziness_ all fought for supremacy. There was almost the sense that Arthur was riding a great beast that was lifting him up out of his own body, to show him how vast the world really was, and how he was simultaneously both vast within himself and an incredibly small yet vital part of the overall grand scheme.

Arthur hadn't realized his eyes had fallen shut until he'd opened them again, blinking in astonishment at Merlin. Merlin, for his part, looked equally dazed.

"Wow," he whispered.

"Yes," said Arthur. He swallowed against a throat suddenly gone dry.

"How long were we…?"

"No idea." Arthur looked over his shoulder, but the rest of the camp was still asleep. Through the trees, he could just make out the silhouette of Lancelot, standing watch. Had he been on watch when they'd first taken hands?

"No wonder no one has ever really been able to describe it," said Merlin. He still sounded breathless.

"You've asked people?"

"I was curious. I didn't think I'd ever get to… you know, for myself."

Arthur nodded. He looked down to where they were still holding hands. Merlin's heart line where it went up his arm was silver now, brilliant as moonlight. Arthur turned their hands over so he could admire the silver of his own line, tracing along his forearm before it disappeared beneath his shirt sleeve.

And he could _feel_ Merlin, now, he realized; no longer vague impressions at random moments, but a constant, steady presence in the back of his mind… or no, he realized. The sensation was seated more toward the back of his _heart._ That simple caring he'd been enjoying in random glimpses was constant, now, and almost moved Arthur to tears. He brought his free hand up to touch his chest, where Merlin's emotional presence seemed to be settling. "You're _here_ ," he said quietly, in wonder.

"And you're here," replied Merlin, resting his fingertips over his own heart. He looked at Arthur, eyes shining in the firelight. "We'll neither of us ever be alone again."

Ordinarily Arthur would turn away, try to cover up how moved he felt, put on a stoic face rather than act like a girl. Certainly his father would have scolded him for such a display. But he could _feel_ Merlin's certainty and relief, and it echoed his own… especially the relief. That sense of aching loneliness he'd sometimes felt as a young boy, struggling to meet his father's expectations… he'd never have to struggle to be what Merlin needed. And Merlin would never have to struggle to give Arthur what he needed, either. All that long emptiness was finally over.

A lone tear slipped down Arthur's cheek, and Merlin reached up to brush it away. Even a few minutes ago, Arthur would have flinched away, or glared at Merlin for daring to presume upon his royal person, but now it felt as though they were truly one. What Merlin offered, Arthur would accept, because it would be the same as accepting his own words and deeds. It simply wasn't in him to reject his other self.

"We'll have to, you know," said Merlin, as if he'd read Arthur's thought. "We'll have to act just the same as always, once we return to Camelot."

 _Of course_ , Arthur realized. Uther would not be happy to learn that Arthur had found his soulmate after being encouraged for so long not to seek him out. The king would be even less pleased to know that Arthur's other half was a commoner, a servant, and one who was widely believed to be afflicted, mentally deficient.

"At least he can't be angry that we're lovers, or that you're interfering with a political marriage," offered Arthur.

"There is that." Merlin smiled, but his eyelids were drooping. The act of joining their heart lines—their souls—must have taken more out of him than he'd anticipated when he'd offered Arthur his hand.

"I should let you rest," Arthur said again, and this time Merlin nodded.

"Sorry."

Arthur huffed in amusement. "Don't be ridiculous." He brushed the dirt from the bottom of his socks and lay back, shifting until he was comfortable.

He could feel Merlin's confusion before the other man even spoke. "Arthur?"

"Elyan heard somewhere that people heal faster when their soulmates are near. He thought it might help you, if I…"

"Oh."

"Get some sleep."

"Okay." They were both silent, listening to the crickets and the breeze through the trees, before Merlin spoke again. "Arthur?"

"What is it?"

"Earlier, when I woke. Were you… did you have your arm around me?"

Arthur felt his face heat with embarrassment. "I had my hand on you. Not even remotely the same thing."

"Right." He fell silent, but Arthur could feel the tension in him, so he waited. "I was just… Could you do it again?"

Merlin could probably feel Arthur's pleasure in being asked, but he still rolled his eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh for form's sake. "I suppose if you insist."

Merlin was smiling now. "Oh, I insist, sire."

"Fine." Arthur rolled onto his side and carefully put his hand back over Merlin's heart, outside the blanket. "Is this all right?"

"Mm." Merlin yawned. "Mm-hm. Thanks."

And it wasn't Arthur's imagination, that when Merlin's breathing evened out, it was nowhere near as shallow or fast as it had been.

* * *

 

Morning came, and Arthur woke to Elyan's hand on his shoulder. Arthur's own hand was still resting on Merlin's chest, and his head nearly pillowed on Merlin's shoulder—Arthur refused to call it cuddling, princes didn't _cuddle_ —but Elyan fortunately made no mentioned of it, or at least none that Arthur could recall in his drowsy haze. Merlin's complexion was still pale, but Arthur was relieved to see that his breathing was much better.

Around him, the other knights were already up and moving. Gwaine and Leon were missing and their horses gone; Arthur was a little surprised he hadn't heard them leave.

"You were pretty deeply asleep, sire," offered Elyan, handing him a cup of hot tea. "We thought it best to leave you and Merlin be for as long as we could, but I need to check his dressings now."

"Right, of course." Arthur wiped a hand over his face, still a bit bleary, as he always was in the mornings. "Any more sign of the wyverns in the night?"

"No, sire." Elyan smiled. "It would seem they've found us not soft enough prey for their tastes." He glanced at Merlin, whose silver heart line was just visible on his shoulder above the blankets, and back to Arthur. "Did he wake in the night?"

"Briefly. I got some broth and water into him."

"And confirmed that you are soulmates, I see." Elyan's expression softened. "Congratulations, sire. It feels like nothing else, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," said Arthur. He felt his cheeks heat, and cleared his throat awkwardly. He might have a soulmate, but he was not yet prepared to go talking about _feelings_. He wasn't going to let his heart line—or Merlin's presence inside him—turn him into a complete girl.

Elyan, fortunately, seemed to understand that some things were better left private, because he mercifully stopped talking and moved to give Merlin's shoulder a little shake.

"Huh… whazzat?" Merlin twitched awake as soon as Elyan's hand touched the blanket. "Arthur?"

"I'm right here."

Elyan smiled in visible relief. "It's good to see you awake, Merlin. How are you feeling?"

"Sore. A little dizzy. Cold." His stomach growled. "Hungry."

Elyan chuckled. "I think we can get some of last night's stew into you, once I've checked your dressings, all right?"

"Yeah." He tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, wincing as he moved, but he was still too weak from blood loss, and he dropped back to his pallet with a grunt. "Well, this is annoying."

"Probably best if you don't move," said Arthur.

"I can't very well eat lying down," Merlin complained.

Arthur sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, leaning forward to pull Merlin upright, before sliding around to sit behind him for support. "Just because you're my soulmate, doesn't mean I'm going to go doing every little thing for you."

"No, you'll still expect _me_ to do every little thing for _you_."

"I'm the _prince,_ Merlin, a fact you continually seem to forget. It's your _job_ to do everything for me."

"Just because you're my soulmate doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to start kissing your arse."

Behind him, Arthur grinned, and he could see Elyan fighting to keep a straight face as well. "If you ever did, I'd suspect you were enchanted."

"Cursed, more like." He might complain, but Arthur could feel his delight, now, and saw right through him.

"All right, you two," said Elyan finally, with a little laugh. "Let's have a look."

Merlin let the blanket fall, and Arthur couldn't resist the opportunity to peer over the other man's shoulder to see if he could get a glimpse of Merlin's destiny mark… but Merlin was covering it with his free hand, and Elyan was carefully keeping his eyes averted as he undid the bandages wound around Merlin's torso.

Merlin leaned his head back onto Arthur's shoulder. "I'll show you later," he whispered.

Arthur frowned. "How did you know I was—"

"I can feel you, remember? Your curiosity." He raised his voice a little, the tone teasing. "You've always been a nosy prat, haven't you?"

"It's my business to know everything, I'm the—"

"You're the prince, yeah, yeah." He hissed as Elyan peeled the dressings away. "How bad is it?"

Elyan tilted his head, and ran his fingers across Merlin's belly. "Well, the bleeding has stopped in most of the scratches, but there's a deep spot here that's still going. And I don't think they're infected, but it's early yet to tell, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Merlin. "We'll need to give them a couple of days to be sure."

"You know the physician is probably going to want to stitch these up," Elyan warned him, pressing a fresh poultice to the sluggishly bleeding wound between Merlin's ribs. Merlin flinched, and Arthur squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.

"Yeah, Arthur warned me last night. And you know, Gaius likes stitching everything he can. Says it helps keep infection out."

"I wouldn't know," said Elyan, as he replaced the dressings. "I'm no physician myself; these poultices are the best I can manage, I'm afraid. For now, let's just keep everything covered and keep you still, hm?"

"Sounds good," said Merlin.

"Some people will do anything for a day off," said Arthur.

"And some people are missing the chance to have a lie-in with their soulmate," said Merlin archly. "But if you'd rather set me to polishing your armor, I suppose that's your choice."

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up, wondering if Merlin had meant the innuendo. In his heart, in the place where he felt Merlin's presence, there as a sudden burst of surprise, then humor. "Arthur!"

"I said nothing!"

"You didn't _have_ to."

"I'll just fetch you something to eat then, shall I?" said Elyan diplomatically, and took himself off before Arthur could even say yes. He might have sounded polite, but Arthur could see the grin he shared with Percival as he turned away.

* * *

 

Throughout the day, Percival, Elyan, and Lancelot all seemed determined to give Arthur and Merlin as much privacy as their little camp could afford, talking amongst themselves or tending to the horses, or "gathering firewood" which Arthur was pretty sure was just an excuse to get away from the two of them.

It wasn't that Arthur and Merlin were doing anything disgustingly sappy… at least, Arthur didn't think they were. He sighed, tamping down the little bit of worry that threatened to creep in. It would be just his luck that having Merlin for a soulmate would skew his perceptions. He'd probably start crying over dead deer now, and trying to bring Merlin flowers to cheer him up.

"It's not like being enchanted, you know," said Merlin. Arthur could feel his exasperation and mild irritation, but also his amusement, and always, always, his care. That care made Arthur want to smile like a buffoon and blush like a maiden. It was ridiculous.

"How would you know what being enchanted feels like?" Then he realized, and lowered his voice. "Have you ever…"

"No! God, no, Arthur. I would never."

"I meant, had you ever _been_."

"Oh. No. But you have."

"I what?"

Merlin sighed. "Sophia. She nearly killed you."

"I don't remember that." Then another thought occurred to him. "You told me you knocked me out with a lump of wood!"

The discomfort, and to Arthur's shock, the shame that flooded Merlin nearly curdled Arthur's own insides. "Would you really have been so willing to trust me," Merlin asked hesitantly, "if I'd said that you were enchanted by an exiled Sidhe who needed to sacrifice someone of royal blood in order to return to her home? Would you have been okay with me saying I killed the Sidhe for you, and pulled you out of the lake where she and her father had tried to drown you? Would you have accepted it when I said that she made you her puppet, and that you willingly followed her into the lake?"

Arthur shuddered. "All that really happened?"

"I'm afraid so." Merlin wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

"It doesn't matter. You still saved me. Saved me _again_ , I should say… and had to hide it all from me because I couldn't accept that magic wasn't evil."

"Well. To be fair, most of the magic that you have seen _has_ been actively trying to kill you or overthrow Camelot. And anyway, what I was trying to say was that having a soulmate is nothing like being enchanted."

"True." Arthur sighed, and rested his hand atop Merlin's. "Thank you. Again."

Merlin smiled, but Arthur could still feel his discomfort. "You're welcome."

"What's wrong?"

"I hate killing. I had to do it, and I'd do it again if the circumstances called for it, but… I always wish there was another way."

"Any man who doesn't hate killing is not someone I'd be willing to trust," said Arthur solemnly.

"But… you and the knights kill all the time, in battle or whatnot."

Arthur shrugged. "Knights understand it's a necessity, sometimes. We get used to it. But to take a life, to hold another person's life in your hands, to have their blood _on_ your hands… it's a grave responsibility. Not something to take lightly, and never something to do without cause." He shook his head, looking away. "And you're not a knight. That responsibility isn't supposed to fall to you; you're not trained for it. It's not supposed to be your duty. I'm sorry you've had to do it." And it was horrible that he'd had to do it for Arthur's sake. Arthur was supposed to be able to protect himself.

How could he protect Merlin, if he couldn't even protect himself?

Merlin's concern welled within Arthur's breast, a sensation he wasn't sure he would ever get used to. "What's wrong?"

Arthur picked up a stick and poked at the ash and embers of last night's fire. "I'm the prince of Camelot. One day I'll be king. I've been taught my entire life that the lives of my people are my responsibility. That's doubly true for the people of the royal household, like you. I'm meant to look after you, to provide for you, to protect you all, with my life if need be. And instead, here you are, protecting me, and doing it in secret, no less. I'm powerless against sorcery, Merlin. How am I to take care of you when I can't even take care of myself?"

"It isn't like that," said Merlin. "Look. I'm rubbish with a sword. You've said so yourself."

"Yes. What's your point?"

"So you protect me with your sword, against other people with swords that I can't fight against. And I protect you against magic, against threats that you can't fight against. It's a fair balance."

But Arthur could feel just the slightest bit of doubt to Merlin's words. "Is it?" he asked. "Is it a balance? Are you really unable to protect yourself against the likes of me and the other knights? When bandits attacked Ealdor, you were the one to conjure that windstorm, weren't you?"

Merlin grimaced. "Will was only trying to—"

"I know. Not my point. My point is, you singlehandedly stopped an entire troop of bandits, ended a battle, with a bit of sorcery. Can you really tell me that you need me to protect you?"

"I don't have eyes in the back of my head," Merlin pointed out. "And yeah, I might be good with magic, but I'm not the one who's going to be king someday. I'm not going to lead armies, or manage Camelot's resources, or bring peace to Albion. That's all you."

"Bring peace to Albion?" Arthur turned away from the fire to raise an eyebrow at Merlin. "Bit of a tall order, that."

"But you'll do it," said Merlin. "You're destined to be the greatest king Camelot has ever known."

"So sure of that, are you?" And he was, Arthur could feel it. Merlin's certainty went bone deep, his faith in Arthur a little bit terrifying… and very much humbling. Arthur wasn't sure he deserved that much faith.

"I am," said Merlin. "I know you can feel it, because I can feel your doubt. Trust me when I say you deserve it. I've seen the person you are. You show everyone the prince, the leader of men, but I see who you are when no one else is looking, and that person… Arthur, I'm honored to be your servant, never mind your soulmate."

Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat, and turned back to the fire, unable to look Merlin in the eye.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience; I'm juggling four WIPs right now, which is not the smartest thing I've ever done, and it means that updates are a little slow for all of them. But I'm doing my best! Your encouragement and kind words mean the world to me. Thank you.

Leon returned empty-handed later that afternoon, but Gwaine came into the camp with a surly-looking, stringy-haired man who gave his name as Dagobert. Arthur wasn't at all sure about letting him near Merlin's injuries; for one thing, he smelled, and for another, he made no secret of his displeasure at having been rousted from his comfortable bed. Of course, his attitude improved immensely when he recognized Arthur.

"Did you tell him he was to attend the prince's servant?" asked Arthur. He spoke in low tones, while Dagobert made a show of dismounting from his horse in pain and stiffness… but he moved easily enough when he pulled his satchel from behind the saddle and made to approach Merlin's pallet.

"I did," said Gwaine. "He was a right arse-kisser until I made clear it was the servant and not the noble who needed his help. I expect he was hoping to be rewarded handsomely for his work."

"And he was the only physician in Little Bridge?"

"The only one for several towns around," said the other knight. "He made a point of telling me that he was supposed to be headed back to his home and it was only good luck that I found him in Little Bridge at all."

Arthur tried to keep the annoyance from his face; it wasn't Gwaine's fault.

"Arthur!" There was a panicked note in Merlin's voice, and Arthur could feel his soulmate's agitation; he was struggling to sit up, and the physician was scowling.

"Show some respect for your betters, boy."

"I'm apprenticed to the royal physician himself, you pillock, and I'm—"

"What is going on here?" asked Arthur.

"Your Highness," began Dagobert, and it was disgusting the way he wheedled, "your boy here is being difficult. Perhaps if you or the other knights were to hold him down…"

"I am not being difficult, I'm being sensible, and you should try it sometime!"

"Silence," spat the physician, then immediately turned back to simper at Arthur, bowing deeply.

"I'll thank you not to speak that way to a member of my household," said Arthur. His tone was cold enough that Dagobert's mouth closed with an audible snap. Arthur didn't take his eyes off the other man as he asked, "What's the matter, Merlin?"

"His hands are _filthy_ ," said Merlin. "Gaius always talks about the importance of cleanliness in preventing infection. I'm not going to risk taking a fever and dying just because _he_ can't be bothered to wash his hands!"

"Your Highness…"

"You heard him," said Arthur. "Wash your hands. And I strongly suggest you make sure your implements are clean before you touch my servant with them, too."

"You would take the word of a servant over a physician?" he demanded, tacking on a "Highness?" only after Arthur glared at him.

"As he tried to tell you, he is apprenticed to Gaius, the king's personal physician, and I trust his training." Merlin's surprise at that statement, in the place behind his heart where he could feel his soulmate, nearly distracted him from the conversation.

Dagobert snorted. "And how many lives has _he_ saved, chopping herbs and running errands for someone else?"

"He's saved mine, for starters," said Arthur, and took perhaps too much satisfaction in watching the little toad's eyes grow wide. There was a swell of pride and gratitude behind his heart, and he blinked rapidly to get his own emotions under control. "You're here to examine Merlin's injuries and stitch up the worst of them, to keep the infection _out_. If he says you need to wash your hands before you touch him, then that's what you'll do."

"He needs to boil his needles and thread, too," put in Merlin.

"Yes, thank you," said Arthur.

"You abide by that nonsense in the royal palace?"

"All the _decent_ physicians do," muttered Merlin; Arthur sent him a quelling look, and for once he subsided. Probably because he could feel Arthur's amusement warring with his irritation at Dagobert.

"Will it make things _worse_ to have clean hands and implements?" asked Arthur reasonably.

"…No, I suppose not," said Dagobert; with ill grace, in Arthur's opinion. "It is a waste of time, but it won't make things worse."

"Then I suggest you find a lump of soap in your satchel and get started."

"Soap?!"

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you haven't any? Easily remedied. Percival?"

The other knight came up beside Dagobert and _loomed_ , using every inch of his height to glower at the physician as he held out the soap from his own satchel. Gwaine came and stood on Dagobert's other side, looking far more intimidating than he had a right to be, with his arms folded and no smile on his face. Behind them, Arthur could see Elyan filling a pot with water and setting it over the fire to boil. Lancelot was still seated on the fallen log they were using as a bench, but he was watching the scene intently, visibly ready to intervene if he should be needed.

Dagobert seemed to shrink under the combined glares of the two knights and the prince, wringing his hands together and bowing. "Of course, Your Highness," he said, his voice returning to that wheedling tone that put Arthur's teeth on edge. He took the soap from Percival and cringed away toward the fire, where Elyan had also set out a basin with fresh water. Once he was away from Arthur, he returned to scowling and muttering to himself, but Arthur had better things to do than to police his behavior every moment.

"Everything all right?" he asked, kneeling by Merlin's side.

"It will be, once he's cleaned up a bit. I just hope he keeps his needles sharp, or this is going to be much worse than it needs to be."

Gwaine dropped down sprawl lazily beside Merlin. "I can keep you company if you like, make sure our new friend behaves himself."

"No, I should be fine, thanks," said Merlin. His lips were still pale, but Arthur thought he might be blushing if he'd had a bit more blood in him.

"I'll be keeping him company," said Arthur, just to watch Merlin's face as he reacted.

"That… that won't be necessary," he tried, but Arthur could feel how much Merlin wanted his soulmate near. Not that Arthur could blame him; he found himself wanting to spend every waking moment with Merlin, as well. It was a little ridiculous.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said aloud, not sure whether he was talking to Merlin or himself. "The physician is less likely to give you trouble if I'm here." _And I can hold your hand if it hurts too much_ , he thought, then paused, slightly appalled with himself.

Was he turning into a girl's blouse already?

No, he decided. It only made sense that Merlin would need someone to hold his hand; he was no knight, after all. Cried over the animals Arthur hunted. Had _feelings,_ and all that nonsense.

"Speaking of ridiculous, I _can_ feel you, you know," said Merlin.

"Ah, so you took hands finally?" asked Gwaine. "Damn. Now I do owe Percival money."

"I can't believe you were taking bets on us," groused Arthur.

"I can," said Merlin.

"Nobody asked you."

"It's not as if you two weren't an old married couple even before your heart line came in," said Gwaine with a grin.

Arthur was saved from having to dignify that with a response by Dagobert coming over, still with a disgruntled expression on his face, but with hands that were a full shade lighter than they had been before he'd been sent to wash. "The needle and thread are in the boiling water now," he sniffed. "Let me look and see what I'll be dealing with."

Without any further warning, he twitched the blanket down and away from Merlin's torso, ignoring Merlin's yelp as he reached up to cover his destiny mark. Dagobert only rolled his eyes and began undoing the dressings; for all his horrible attitude, his hands moved as if he knew what he was doing, albeit a bit brisk and rough given the way Merlin flinched.

"I will remind you to have a care with my servant," said Arthur.

"He'll be fine," said Dagobert, without looking up. "Agrimony. Good. How severe was the bleeding? Your knight only said he was scratched."

"He was scratched by wyverns—"

"Wyverns!" The physician immediately looked up, as if expecting one to dive down and attack him at any moment.

"And then he dove into the lake to rescue me, and swam while bleeding into the water. So we don't know how bad the bleeding was, but it was some time before we were able to tend to his injuries properly."

"You're lucky to be alive, boy," said Dagobert, peeling the poultice back. At least he seemed more careful now in his handling. He winced when he got a good look at the scratches. "You managed to swim with these?" Arthur hid his own grimace, so as not to worry Merlin. Seeing the wounds by daylight was another matter entirely from seeing them in the dim twilight the night before. They were angry red slashes against Merlin's pale skin, and they looked deep where they slipped between his ribs. They had to hurt like hell, yet Merlin had barely complained.

"Arthur needed me," said Merlin simply. And it was really that simple for him, based on what Arthur could feel through their connection.

How had he ever earned such devotion?

He glanced over, and saw Merlin staring up at him with… _everything_ _…_ shining in his eyes. He reached out and took Merlin's hand, squeezing back as Merlin's grip tightened on his.

"Any dizziness, fever, chills, vomiting?" asked Dagobert, breaking the moment.

"He was lightheaded, dizzy when he tried to stand up. None of the other things."

"I have heard that wyverns sometimes carry contagion or poison in their claws, Your Highness. Your servant doesn't seem to be showing any of the signs of poisoning, at least. Perhaps the lake water washed out the contagion before he could be infected by it."

"I told you washing was important," said Merlin, and Dagobert scowled at him.

"Yes, yes, shut up."

Wearing gloves, Elyan carefully poured the boiling water out of the pot and onto a clean, flat river stone, then shook the needle and thread out to let them cool. He brought the impromptu tray over to Merlin's side, and watched as Dagobert threaded the needle with steady hands. "I hope that needle is sharp," he said.

"Which of us is the physician, here?" snapped Dagobert. "Of course my needles are sharp. I sharpen them myself. Daily. Is that good enough for you, knight?"

"He speaks on my behalf," said Arthur mildly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Dagobert cringed into that obsequious bow and fake smile. "Just get on with it."

"Move your hand out of the way, boy," said Dagobert. "I don't care about your destiny mark, I've seen naked patients more times than I can count."

Elyan and Gwaine both got up and moved away at that, granting them privacy. Arthur would have as well, but Merlin refused to let go his hand. "Are you sure?" Arthur asked.

"I don't mind," said Merlin. "It's yours, after all."

Dagobert raised an eyebrow at that, but proceeded to jab the needle into Merlin's side without a word of warning. Merlin flinched and hissed, and the physician glared at him. "Hold still if you want these stitches to come out straight."

"Your bedside manner is awful, in case you were wondering," grunted Merlin. Arthur hid a grin, and squeezed back when Merlin's grip tightened. He might be lousy with a sword and built like a twig, but Arthur's soulmate was definitely stronger than he looked.

"Just look at me, Merlin," said Arthur quietly. "Look at me, and take slow deep breaths. If you tense up it hurts worse, trust me."

"I've been stitched before," said Merlin, but he did as Arthur commanded. Their eyes locked, and it was as if the world fell away. Arthur half-expected to feel the telltale tingle of magic along his heart line, or for Merlin's eyes to turn gold, but instead there was only the two of them, breathing in unison. Arthur felt pinned under the intensity of his soulmate's gaze, unable to look away even to take in Merlin's destiny mark for the first time. Even sounds were distorted, Arthur able to hear the little pained noises Merlin was trying to hold back as if he were breathing them into Arthur's ear, while everything else seemed far away and silent.

The stitching seemed to take forever, and Merlin was sweaty and trembling by the time Dagobert finished, but as far as Arthur could tell, the physician hadn't deliberately done anything to make the ordeal any worse for him than normal. Of course, if he had, Arthur wasn't at all sure he'd have been able to notice, he'd been so focused on Merlin and the color of his eyes. Arthur shook himself, looking away and taking a deep breath as if a spell had been broken. Perhaps it had, even though Arthur had noticed no magic coming from Merlin.

The worst parts of the gashes were closed now in rows of black stitching that still looked ugly for all their neatness. The physician began to replace the bandages, winding them tightly to cover the parts that hadn't been sewn up.

"There is the matter of my payment," said Dagobert, just as irritable now as he'd been since arriving.

Arthur nodded. "Lancelot," he called. The other knight stood up with the party's purse already in his hand. Dagobert turned away, and the two of them set to haggling; Arthur had a feeling that the physician would accept a lower price than he'd hoped for, given the way Percival calmly joined them and watched the exchange with his arms folded. Arthur could feel the ripple of amusement from Merlin as he looked over and took in the scene.

"Someone will have to escort him back to Little Bridge," he said, "unless you want him riding with us the entire way tomorrow."

"We might not get a choice in that," said Arthur. "I'm fairly certain I won't be able to convince Gwaine to take him back anymore today, as late as it is."

"No, you're probably right." He swallowed and lifted his head from his pillow, looking around. "Is there water?"

"Of course." One corner of his mouth lifted. "I suppose you expect me to fetch it for you, just because I'm your soulmate." His smile widened as he felt the little thrill of joy from Merlin as soon as he said the word.

"I'm an invalid. Convalescing. Can't be expected to fend for myself until I'm well again."

"Which will be twice as long as it takes anyone else to recover, I'm sure," he said, passing the water skin over. "You'll milk this for all you can, you lazybones."

"I thought we were talking about me, not you."

"Hey!"

"Anyway, I'll probably heal twice as _fast,_ not twice as slow." He felt unusually somber, and the sensation brought Arthur up short.

"Why? Because of the—because of the magic?" he asked, lowering his voice and glancing to make sure they were not overheard. Even so, Merlin's eyes grew wide and he visibly startled.

"I was thinking because we're soulmates and you'll be near," said Merlin. "But now that you mention it… I _have_ recovered from some things more quickly than I probably should have."

"Like what?"

Merlin bit his lip. "Not here."

Arthur sighed. There really was a lot that they would have to talk about, but he was right. "Not here. When we return to Camelot, though…"

"Right, yes, of course."

"And your destiny mark?"

"You didn't see it earlier?"

"I was too busy making sure you didn't pass out or squirm while the physician stitched you up."

"I don't _squirm_." As if to give the lie to his words, Merlin wriggled down into his bedroll, dropping his head back as he finished with the water skin. He must have felt Arthur's amusement, because he glanced up only long enough to say, "Shut up."

"I said nothing."

"Again: you didn't have to."

Arthur smirked. "You still didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask one."

Again, the prince lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder before speaking. "Could I see your destiny mark?"

"I haven't seen yours," Merlin pointed out. "Hardly seems fair."

Arthur could feel his face heat in embarrassment. "Of course. Of course you're right." Why would Merlin want to show his destiny mark? Yes, they were soulmates, but he had already said he wasn't interested in anything that involved getting naked. And Arthur wasn't interested in Merlin, not like that at least, so really, why did they need to see each other's destiny marks?

"Hey," said Merlin. He took Arthur's hand and squeezed, again. "Look at me." The space behind Arthur's heart was filled with concern that was not his own. Concern, and fondness.

"You're not interested in that sort of—"

"I'm not interested in having an _audience_ ," corrected Merlin, raising his eyebrow. He tipped his head toward where the knights were gathered, all on the opposite side of the fire to give them privacy. "But it's _you_ , Arthur. We're soulmates. Of course I'll want to share that with you. Just… not with them."

Arthur blinked, once again feeling like a fool. "Oh."

"When we get back to Camelot…" Merlin broke off with a sigh. "When we get back to Camelot, we'll have a lot to do. A lot to talk about. We'll have to figure out how to tell your father, just for starters. But once things have settled, yes, I'll absolutely show you mine." He grinned suddenly. "As long as you show me yours."

Arthur didn't want to encourage his servant's idea of humor, but the innuendo was just silly, and erased his earlier embarrassment. "You sound ridiculous."

"Whatever you say, sire," said Merlin. His grin did not fade, and neither did the affection Arthur could feel, hiding behind his heart.


	13. Chapter 13

Whether it was luck, or the gods had decided they'd had enough adventure for one journey, the rest of their trip back to Camelot was completed without incident. They traveled slowly out of deference to Merlin's injuries, and of course, there was the regular patrol business to attend to for Arthur, as they stopped in each village and he collected reports from the headmen and women, and from the nobles who enforced the law for their various domains. An ordinary patrol without the prince would have skipped most of this and been back to the capital within a few days; with the prince, however, it took them nearly a week to return.

They took advantage of the slow pace and Arthur's duties to spend nights in the villages rather than out in the open, and found physicians to tend to Merlin's injuries wherever possible. He and Merlin ended up sharing a room, most nights.

"Why did you go to the Isle of the Blessed the first time?" Arthur asked one night, once they were alone.

"To save you," Merlin replied from his end of the bed. They were lying head-to-foot, Arthur still propped up against the pillows, not quite ready to sleep. Merlin's voice was hushed and his expression faraway. Arthur could feel the turmoil in his soulmate's heart as he recounted the tale: a fatal poison; the bargain Merlin had made, a life for a life; the deceit and betrayal of Nimueh; Merlin's rage as he had destroyed the sorceress with lightning.

The amount of power Merlin possessed must be staggering. Arthur had never heard of anything like it. What he said, however, was, "I never knew your mother was in danger."

Merlin shook his head. "She didn't have business before the king. She only wanted to come to Gaius for help, or to see me before she—" he stopped, swallowed, "—before she died."

"So you saved her, too."

"I guess. I didn't think of it that way at the time. The bargain was supposed to be for my life, not hers. I remember only feeling anger when I saw how she was suffering." And it echoed even now, behind Arthur's heart where he could feel his soulmate.

"I can't imagine." If Arthur had seen his own father dying at some sorceress's hand, and had had the power to stop it… he shook his head. "You were saying goodbye to me," he realized. "When you told me not to find a bootlicker to replace you."

Merlin nodded. "I was. Didn't think I'd be back."

The easy way Merlin said it pricked at Arthur's temper. "You are not to trade your life for mine ever again, do you understand me?" They were soulmates. Arthur had only just found him; he wasn't about to lose him to some witch's bargain.

"It's not that simple," tried Merlin, but Arthur wasn't having it.

"It is. We're soulmates. If I were to lose you… if I were to lose you because you were _saving me_ … I don't think I could live with that. It…" He may as well go ahead and say it. "It would be hard enough to bear life without you in it." He'd seen the way his father still ached for Ygraine, some days. "Never mind the thought of you being gone because of _me_."

"I have a duty to protect you," said Merlin, but Arthur could feel him, holding back the truth.

Arthur shook his head. "It's more than duty. It's more than that, and you know it."

Merlin shifted, sitting up painfully in his bed. "You're right. It is," he said. "But that's just it. How can you ask me not to protect you? How can you ask that, knowing that you would do the exact same thing in my place?"

Arthur looked away. "I don't want to find out what sort of person I would become, if you were ripped away from me. I don't think I'm strong enough to bear it."

Merlin's hand on his knee brought his attention back to the other man. That, and the glow of concern and caring, overlaid with anguish. "I understand," he said. "I do. But don't you realize? I don't want to find out what life would be like without you, either."

Arthur reached over and laid his own hand atop Merlin's, unable to find words with which to reply.

* * *

 

"It's good that you're getting a bath tonight, sire," said Merlin, a couple days later. They were just finishing up a meal in the headman's own home, while the headman and his wife slept elsewhere. "You stink."

"Princes never _stink_ , Merlin. That's _manly sweat."_

"Yes well, your princely manly sweat smells like someone let one of the royal pigs into your chambers. You should take your gambeson and dunk it in a bucket of water before it gets up and walks away by itself."

"That's _your_ job. And you can fetch me that bath while you're at it."

Merlin sat up straighter. "Are you out of your mind? These stitches have only barely begun to heal! I still need help into the saddle to make sure I don't pull anything."

Arthur rolled his eyes, then stopped at what he was feeling from Merlin. The other man was serious. "Are you telling me you've fetched the water for my bath _by yourself_ all these years? In the palace?"

Merlin was looking at him with confusion that radiated into the space behind Arthur's heart. "Er. Yes?"

Arthur sighed. "You're supposed to order the other servants to do that," he explained. "There's a reason being made my manservant was supposed to be such an honor."

"Being made your slave, more like. 'Do this, Merlin,' 'do that, Merlin,' you know we have perfectly good stable boys whose job it is to muck out the stables, but you always send me to do it."

"I haven't done that in years!" Arthur could feel his face growing red, not in anger but in embarrassment. He really had been an ass when he was younger.

Merlin must have picked up on Arthur's own emotions, because he stopped his tirade and looked over at him fondly. "No, I suppose you haven't."

Arthur cleared his throat. Just because Merlin could feel everything he felt, it didn't mean they would have to _talk_ about it. He hoped. "Anyway, send for someone to bring buckets of water for a bath. It needn't be too warm. And see if there is a washerwoman who will at least rinse out the gambeson."

"I can do that much," said Merlin. "And, um… the water for your bath. I, um…" He paused for so long that Arthur was nearly ready to order him to just spit it out when he said, all in a rush, "I could heat it for you myself."

Arthur turned from where he'd begun peeling off his tunic and trousers. The space behind his heart was full of Merlin's discomfort and trepidation, and he couldn't think why. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" He got up from the table, stepped closer to Arthur, and lowered his voice. "I can make the water warm with my magic. No need for a fire."

Arthur blinked. He'd seen firsthand the way that Merlin had saved his life at the Isle of the Blessed, and had heard the story of how he'd struck down Nimueh. It simply hadn't occurred to him that magic could be used for anything as mundane as this. "What else can you do?" he asked.

Merlin shrugged, then made a little face and rested his hand against his side, where the stitches lay beneath his tunic. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know much of anything about… about sorcery," said Arthur, lowering his voice as well. "I don't know what you might be capable of."

"Oh. Well. Neither do I? I mean, I'm not formally trained, like I suppose the druids must be. I, er, I have a book with spells in it, and I've been learning some of those. But I've been doing magic since before I could walk. Gaius says that we haven't found the limit yet of what I can do. It's just a matter of learning how to do it." The emotion coming from Merlin was a mixture of trepidation and pride, at least that Arthur could identify.

"You're uncomfortable talking about this."

"I don't want you to think I'm a threat." Merlin shrugged again, but he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes. "I've kept this secret my entire life. I've wanted to tell you, so much. You don't even know. But…"

But Arthur hadn't been ready. "I understand."

"It's—I can feel your curiosity. You really do want to know, and you're not… you're not judging me. It's amazing!" he said, with a tentative smile. "But it's hard to get used to. Hard to break the habit of secrecy."

"I can imagine." There was something in Arthur that suddenly wanted to touch Merlin, to kiss him, not as a prelude to anything more but as simple reassurance that he could be trusted. The urge was surprising, completely unexpected, and Arthur had no idea what to do about it. "See about that bath, would you?" he asked instead.

Merlin looked over, and the glow of his emotions was impossibly fond. "Of course, sire."

He may as well have said _I love you, too._

* * *

 

"Is the water all right?" Merlin asked later. Arthur was soaking, half-asleep already, utterly relaxed.

"It's perfect," he admitted. It might have been fun to give Merlin a hard time about fussing over him like a girl, but with the heat soaking into muscles made stiff from riding, and good strong soap to wash off the grime of the road, Arthur simply felt too content to bother right now. "You should wash up when I'm done," he said. "Keep your injuries clean."

"I will." Arthur felt a burst of shyness from him, along with a faint hint of curiosity. Merlin wanted something, but didn't want to ask for it. Arthur thought he had an idea of what it might be.

"Pass me the towel, would you?" he asked, and in a moment Merlin had tossed it to drape over the privacy screen. Arthur stood and dried off, then wrapped the cloth around his hips. "Come here."

He felt Merlin's surprise, followed by wariness. "Why?"

"You'll need help getting your shirt off; I've seen how carefully you've been moving. Unless you didn't want me to."

"No, it's fine," said Merlin. Those were his words, but Arthur could feel the embarrassment behind them.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Arthur just looked at him. "Merlin."

The other man blew out a breath and shook his head. "For all that I like that I don't _have_ to hide anymore, this not being _able_ to hide anymore is a bit difficult to get used to," he said wryly.

Arthur smiled. "I know what you mean. But don't change the subject."

Merlin sighed. "It's really nothing. I'm just… feeling especially scrawny today, and you're asking to take my shirt off."

It hadn't occurred to Arthur that his insolent best friend would ever feel self-conscious over his appearance. "Just because your ears stick out and you're built like a twig is no reason to be embarrassed," he said, just to feel the way Merlin switched to indignant effrontery and glared at him.

"Sire, respectfully, shut up," he said, and Arthur grinned at him.

"Are you going to make me?"

"I _could_ ," said Merlin. Arthur could feel that he meant it, too.

"Another time, perhaps," he said, watching the way Merlin responded to the warmth he could no doubt feel coming from Arthur. "Come on."

Moving carefully, and with only the occasional hiss from Merlin, they got his shirt off, and Arthur tossed it aside. He took a moment to examine the stitches. "Nothing has pulled, it appears," he said. "And I'm no expert, but they don't look infected. They're not red or leaking or anything."

"No," said Merlin. He had one hand up, covering his destiny mark. Arthur's own was bare, visible if Merlin wanted to look, but he kept his eyes averted.

Arthur rested his hand over Merlin's, gently, carefully, but made no move to pull it away. "Mine is a hawk," he said quietly. "With a striped tail."

Merlin smiled, and glanced over, shyly. "A merlin," he said. His eyes flicked down to the design and then back up.

"I think so. Fate must think I am especially thick, to have given me such an obvious clue."

Merlin's smile grew wider. "Well, I didn't want to say anything, but…"

"Yes, yes, shut up." He stroked his thumb over the back of Merlin's hand. "May I see?"

Merlin was blushing, the red deepening on his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. He nodded, but still hesitated before pulling his hand away.

On Merlin's chest, just above his heart, was a dragon. The silver of his heart line picked out wings and scales and talons that glistened in the light from the lamps, almost but not quite in the shape of the Pendragon crest. "It's beautiful," said Arthur.

"So's yours," said Merlin. "And look. They fit together. See? Yours is reaching down while mine reaches up…"

"Yes, I think I do see." It didn't take much imagination to visualize the two emblems together as one symbol. He stroked his thumb across the body of the dragon and felt Merlin shiver. The urge to kiss Merlin, to press his lips to the dragon on his breast, rose up again, and Arthur turned away. "Get cleaned up," he said. "I need to speak with the headman tonight, so that we can leave earlier tomorrow rather than be stuck here till noon."

"Of course, sire."

* * *

 

One thing about having a soulmate that Arthur had not anticipated was the utter lack of privacy, as Merlin had already mentioned; there was no barrier he could erect to block out Merlin's emotions, or prevent him from feeling what Arthur felt. The other man was simply _there,_ whether Arthur wanted it or not. The difficult thing was that, for the most part, Arthur found he very much did want.

Should he be worried about that?

Did it matter that there were no barriers between him and Merlin, when as a prince he had very little privacy anyway and almost none from the man who brought his food and helped him dress each morning? Did having this, this open gateway between him and Merlin make things better or worse?

Arthur wasn't sure. He was still trying to decide if he minded (or rather, he _didn't_ mind, and was still trying to decide whether or not he should), but he figured this was part of what Lancelot had been talking about when he'd suggested that opening his heart to Merlin fully would take time. Wasn't any relationship about lowering one's guard, just a little, to allow the other person to see one fully?

And Arthur _wanted_ that, he found. Wanted to know and be known, with an intensity that sometimes unnerved him.

At the same time, unnerving as all this was, it was reassuring to know that his soulmate was _Merlin_. The man had already saved his life more than once, often at great personal risk. He'd already seen Arthur at his best and worst, half-asleep, half-drunk (or more), wounded, angry, nervous, humiliated, and everything in between. All the faces that Arthur did not—could not—allow himself to show the rest of the world, Merlin saw already. How could knowing what Arthur felt be any worse? If anything, the lowered barrier between them was an intimacy that would require trust on both their parts.

And Arthur did trust Merlin, perhaps more than a prince should trust a servant, certainly more than his father would have appreciated or allowed. Arthur trusted Merlin, but until recently, the reverse had not been true. Merlin had had to hide his magic from Arthur the entire time they had known one another. For Merlin to feel know what Arthur felt, in the space behind Merlin's heart, that had to demonstrate that Arthur was trustworthy.

Didn't it?

Arthur would strive to make sure that it did.

* * *

 

Arthur watched his own behavior as they traveled, trying to hunt for any differences in his demeanor that would be noticed by the king once they returned to Camelot. Strangely, there were few that he could identify. Merlin rode by his side rather than at the back of their patrol group; then again, he'd always done that. Insolent for a servant, perfect for a friend. He and Merlin bickered and bantered, but they'd always done that as well; the only difference was that Arthur could feel the good humor that Merlin felt, the delight in their quick exchanges, the occasional flash of satisfaction at putting the prince in his place when Merlin thought he was being too arrogant.

There were still differences, though. It was a bit harder to bait Merlin, now, when the other man could feel that Arthur was only playing and trying to wind him up. Arthur found himself listening more intently to whatever Merlin had to say, feeling the sincerity behind his words. And whenever they stopped, Arthur found that he did not want to leave Merlin's side. He told himself that he was only worried for Merlin's injuries, and tried not to think of what might happen between them once they returned to Camelot.

"Are you all right?" Merlin asked him that night.

"Fine," said Arthur.

Merlin didn't say anything, but his skepticism burst into full bloom in the space behind his heart.

"All right, shut up."

"I didn't say anything," said Merlin with a frown.

"You don't have to. I can tell you don't believe me, and you're just on the _point_ of nagging me until I tell you what's bothering me."

"Well, I wasn't going to _nag_ …"

"Mm-hmm." Arthur was silent for a moment as their mutual amusement faded. "I find," he said awkwardly, clearing his throat, "that I don't want to let you out of my sight. That I want you by my side… rather more than I used to." He cleared his throat again, looking anywhere except at Merlin. "We… _I_ … can't afford to behave that way in front of my father."

"No, I know you can't," said Merlin. "But you needn't be ashamed of wanting me near."

"I'm not ashamed." If anything, he was frightened of the depth of his feelings for his manservant. They'd only discovered they were soulmates a few days ago, and he'd never thought of Merlin as anything other than a friend. Now, however… "It's… unusual," he tried. "And a bit… unsettling."

"I understand," said Merlin. He sighed, and moved about the room, tidying here and there. "I've had a bit of time to suspect that we were soulmates," he explained. "Time to make room for you in my heart. You, on the other hand… I can't imagine that you really thought of me that way at all."

And Arthur didn't want to say it, didn't want to hurt Merlin, but it was the truth. "Well, no." He made a face, trying to pick the best words to proceed. "I don't… I know that there are people like Leon, who fancy men, and… desire them…" He could feel his face heating.

"You know I don't mind that that won't be part of what we have," said Merlin. He gave a little half-smile, and Arthur could feel his shyness. It shouldn't have been as endearing as it was. "Although, I suppose I can admit, it _would_ be nice to feel wanted."

"I want you near," offered Arthur. He stepped closer, to where Merlin was watching him with wide, trustful eyes. Cautiously, he reached up, and traced his fingertips across Merlin's forehead, and into his hair. Merlin actually shut his eyes and sighed, content as a cat, and Arthur felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. "Yet I can't allow you to be too near, when we're in Camelot. I don't know how to reconcile that."

"We're always together anyway," said Merlin. He opened his eyes slowly. "I'm your servant. I go where you go, and no one even thinks twice about it."

"And is that enough for you? Truly?"

Merlin smiled. " _This_ is nice."

And it was, Arthur had to admit. "In private, then."

"Yeah. Obviously, it'd—I don't want to know how the king would react to us doing any of this where he could see." Merlin glanced away, thinking, and bit his lip. "Will you tell him about us?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't think I'll have a choice."

Merlin nodded. "I'll be by your side, whatever happens."


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur had been raised to understand strategy and tactics, had learned how to plan a campaign at his tutors' knees, and he suspected that it would be a battle as hard as any he had fought if he wanted to win Uther's approval of Merlin as Arthur's soulmate. He didn't think Uther would be so cruel as to kill or harm Merlin, just to break the bond they had; he was ripped in two over Ygraine, decades later, and Arthur couldn't imagine him wanting to inflict that on his own son. But he could easily decide to send Merlin away, and there would be nothing Arthur could do about it.

Nothing, unless he convinced the king that having Merlin as his soulmate was of benefit, a benefit that Uther could see and measure.

So Arthur spent their last day on the road plotting exactly how, when, and where he would make their bond known to his father. Merlin, able to feel his determination, wisely kept quiet and stayed out of Arthur's way, talking with the other knights and letting Arthur think. Always, however, Arthur could feel his steadfast loyalty and his willingness to help in any way that Arthur needed.

How could Uther expect Arthur to live without that?

* * *

 

Finally they arrived, not too travel-stained, not too weary, but happy to return to the citadel all the same. Arthur sent Leon ahead to inform the king of his arrival, dismissed the other knights with slaps on the shoulder and his thanks, and ordered Merlin off to Gaius.

"I need you to stay out of sight until at least dinnertime," said the prince. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah, 'course," said Merlin. "I'm sure Gaius will have chores that need tending to now that I'm back. And he'll want to examine my injuries and probably scold me for foolishness, again."

Arthur barely managed to hold back the grin at Merlin's amusement, there in the space behind his heart. "Yes, the way you foolishly saved my life. How dare you."

Merlin just smiled, wide enough his dimples showed. "Sire," he said, and left without a bow.

* * *

 

Arthur kept his gloves on during his report to the king, which was nothing unusual; he was still in full armor and had always made a habit of reporting before he found his chambers to relax.

"Sir Leon tells me you were attacked by wyverns at the Isle of the Blessed," said Uther. He looked his son over with an expression of actual concern. "You are well, I trust?"

"I am, Father."

"And the… _ashes_ ," he said with distaste. "You disposed of them?"

"We did. I feel certain we will not be haunted by any vengeful spirits or lingering magic from the sorceress Morgause, after this."

"Vengeful spirits. Superstitious nonsense, Arthur."

"Of course, Father."

Uther waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure you are tired," he said. "Give your village reports to Geoffrey, and I will read them later. You can tell me more of how you dealt with the wyverns over dinner this evening."

"Yes, Father."

* * *

 

"Arthur!" Morgana was running toward him, looking almost desperate, and Arthur paused to await her approach.

"Morgana. Is everything all right?" She looked well-recovered from her recent bout of self-poisoning, at least. Arthur's adventures on this patrol had caused him to almost entirely forget his concern for her health.

To his absolute shock, Morgana threw her arms around him and held on tight. "I dreamed you were drowned," she whispered. "It was awful. I keep dreaming that you are drowned, and then you come back alive…" She pulled back and searched his face, tears standing in her eyes. "How did you survive?"

"What do you mean, you _keep_ dreaming I've drowned? This is the first time it's happened."

"No," she shook her head. "No, when that bitch Sophia came…"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "'Gana!"

"Oh, don't tell me to mind my language, I don't need to hear it's unbecoming or any other nonsense. Come with me. Tell me everything."

"I will," he said, turning them toward his chambers, "but first tell me about Sophia."

What followed was a tale that had almost nothing in common with what Merlin and Gaius had told him. A lump of wood, indeed. Arthur spared a moment to be angry that Merlin had lied to him, before he realized why that must have been. Magic had to have been involved somehow; Merlin must have needed to hide his role in whatever had really happened. Arthur vowed he would get the true story from Merlin tonight, after dinner.

Assuming they both survived dinner.

"That's… fascinating, Morgana, truly," said Arthur, as he started work on the straps of his armor. She stepped forward and raised her hands to help, the way she had done as a little girl before her tutors had chased her away from the training grounds. "As for _this_ time, we were attacked by wyverns while taking a boat to the Isle of the Blessed. I went over the side."

Morgana's hands stilled for just a moment, her lip quivering. "That's what I saw."

"But I'm all right, 'Gana. Look. I'm right here. Merlin dove in and saved me. He's… quite a strong swimmer, it seems," he said, recalling his and Lancelot's lies to the other knights. He hated lying to his sister, but protecting Merlin had to be his first priority, and Merlin's magic wasn't his secret to reveal. "And the water wasn't quite as deep as we'd thought, or we were near to some shallows. I'm not entirely clear on the details. I was underwater, after all."

"You're lucky to have Merlin," she said, in an entirely too knowing tone, and smiled up at him slyly.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you talking about?" he asked, and she only reached for his left hand and turned it palm up. He'd taken his gloves off to better work the straps of his armor, and the silver of his heart line gleamed in the light coming through his window.

"Congratulations," she said.

Had she foreseen this, too? Arthur tried to school his expression, but was horribly aware that he was failing utterly; his eyes were wide as he said, "Don't say anything to Father."

Morgana scoffed. "Are you that afraid of his reaction?"

"No," he replied. "But I will have to present it to him carefully, or he may send Merlin away. There would be nothing I could do to stop him."

After a moment's thought, Morgana nodded. "I see. I suppose you're right to be careful. But come; before you left, your line hadn't even come in yet."

"I owe that partly to you," Arthur confessed. "We were talking about your dreams. How they are… more than just dreams." Morgana's smile dropped away almost immediately into something somber and afraid. "I needed to accept that," Arthur said gently. "I wasn't ready to meet my soulmate until I did. I needed to accept that magic isn't always evil, that the people who use it aren't always corrupt. Morgana, you took poison to save the realm, from your own half-sister." Arthur took both her hands in his. "I can't imagine that being the act of an evil person."

"I thought she would help me," said Morgana. "I thought she could teach me how to control the dreams. Before I went mad from them."

"I know."

Morgana sighed, her eyes falling shut, then she opened them with a frown. "Why would you need to accept magic for your heart line to come in? Unless…" Her eyes grew wide. " _Merlin?_ "

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, and felt Merlin's sudden concern in the space behind his heart. He opened his mouth, but the words simply wouldn't come; he had _no idea_ what he could say to un-reveal Merlin's secret. Idiot. He was an _idiot_. Arthur had spent the day preparing his campaign against Uther, but had forgotten about Morgana and her damnable perceptiveness. _Years_ , Merlin had managed to keep his secret in Camelot, and here Arthur had barely lasted a week before the knowledge came spilling out.

"Morgana," he whispered hoarsely.

"He… he knew? I asked him, and he said—but he _knew?_ "

"'Gana, he had to keep it secret. He _had_ to. It's his _life_ if anyone finds out. He couldn't afford to tell anyone. Not even you. Not even his _soulmate_."

Morgana took a shaky, deep breath, then another; she stepped away from Arthur, turning her back on him, her fists clenching and releasing. She stood at the window, breathing deeply, and Arthur knew she was struggling not to weep in front of him.

"I… understand," she said finally. "I am angry, and hurt, and… and _angry._ He could have told _me_! I would have…"

"He couldn't know that," said Arthur. "'Gana, listen. We are two of only a handful of people who have _ever_ known his secret. Even in his home village, where everyone knows everything about everybody, they didn't know _this_. He's never breathed a word. I only found out by accident, and I'm his soulmate." He tossed his gorget onto the bed and dragged his hands through his hair. "He'll be furious that you've found out. That I couldn't keep this secret for him."

"Not your fault," said Morgana, turning back to face him finally. There were still tears standing in her eyes. "I've always been able to get you to say more than you wanted to, brother."

Arthur sighed. Merlin would… all right, he probably wouldn't kill him, but it was a safe bet that they wouldn't be on speaking terms for a long time after he learned of this. Arthur could feel Merlin's concern rise a notch, and he concentrated, trying to send reassurance to the other man. It was probably obscured by the regret and shame he truly felt.

"I've always taken it as a sign of your trust in me," she said, stepping up to him to take his hands. She turned his left hand over and traced the heart line there with her fingertips so that he shivered. "I cherish that trust. And I won't see another innocent life slaughtered by Uther's madness."

"You can't tell _anyone_ , Morgana," warned Arthur. "Not even Gwen. I know the two of you are friends, but—"

"But the more people know, the greater the chances that word reaches Uther. I know. I won't see Merlin harmed. You have my word."

Arthur sighed. It would have to be enough.

* * *

 

His first move was carefully planned. He was in the middle of recounting his adventure with the wyverns, and was just getting to the part where Merlin had saved his life. With his right hand, Arthur finished drinking his wine and set the goblet down; with his left, he gestured for Merlin to come and refill it.

As he'd hoped, Uther spotted the flash of silver on his hand immediately. "What is that?"

Arthur looked up, calm. "What is what, Father?"

"Your heart line," he said, and scowled. "What have I told you about searching for your soulmate?"

"I didn't seek my soulmate out, Father. It was pure luck that we were matched."

"I see." Uther's expression screamed disbelief and distaste. "When did this happen?"

"At the Isle of the Blessed, actually," said Arthur. "When Merlin pulled me out of the water and saved my life."

" _Merlin_ did?" He leaned forward in his seat to glare into the shadows where the other man stood, wine pitcher in hand. Arthur felt a spike of trepidation from him, and couldn't blame him. "Your _manservant_ is your soulmate?"

"This isn't the first time he's saved my life," Arthur pointed out. "Even you have remarked that he's unusually loyal for a servant."

There was a long pause as Uther thought about it, then… "Yes," he mused. "I suppose this would explain that." He took a bite of chicken, and Arthur discreetly released the breath that he'd been holding. "But to be bonded to a servant. Honestly, Arthur."

"In way, I suppose it makes sense," he replied, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "After all, he serves me, and I am to serve Camelot's people as their king."

Uther scoffed, and raised an eyebrow at his son as if to say, _Nice try_. Arthur simply shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him who his soulmate might be, and tried to ignore the curdling in his gut that always came when Uther was disappointed in him. Of course, even in the matter of pure, uncontrollable fate, the impossible luck of actually finding a soulmate, Arthur would manage to fall short of the king's expectations.

It helped that he could feel Merlin's protective anger, coursing through him as if it were his own.

"I take it your heart line was at least not _red_ when it came in."

"No, it wasn't red, Father." That, at least, was entirely the truth.

"Then you will still marry for the good of the kingdom when the time comes."

"Yes, of course; that was my expectation all along. As you've taught me, Father."

"Well, I am happy to hear that you are approaching this sensibly," said Uther. "A prince cannot expect to marry for love."

Arthur had heard this speech a dozen times before. "I am aware, Father. The fact that Merlin is my soulmate will not interfere with that."

"Hm." Uther chewed and swallowed. "It occurs to me, since the two of you are heart-friends, it is entirely possible that you, Arthur, will still grow to love your spouse, despite it being an arranged marriage."

Given the way Arthur was beginning to feel about Merlin—or perhaps, just beginning to realize how he had always felt—he had his doubts that he would be able to fall in love with his future queen, but this was still exactly the conclusion that Arthur had been hoping Uther would reach. "An affectionate match is most desirable, of course," he said, "but even if that does not come to pass, I am sure my future queen and I will be able to rule Camelot well."

Uther actually blinked in pleased surprise, and looked at Arthur with something like approval. "I have always told you that a king cannot afford the luxury of trust," he said slowly. "Yet in the matter of soulmates, I suppose it is possible to make an exception. All men have ambition," he added, glaring sidelong at Merlin again, "but once you know what your soulmate truly _wants_ , it may be possible to trust him as… well, he is a servant, so not as an adviser, but to a limited degree one might be able to expect him to keep your confidence. He might serve as a kind of sounding board for your thoughts. Assuming he can keep those thoughts to himself."

"Of course, Father." Arthur already trusted Merlin farther than Uther would likely ever appreciate or accept, but there was no need to say so aloud. Merlin could feel it, Arthur knew by the pleased glow behind his heart, and that was enough.

"Very well, then," said the king. "I suppose I have no real reason to banish him."

Arthur swallowed, and felt Merlin's shock as the notion occurred to the other man for the first time. "Would you have?"

"If you could not be persuaded to see reason, then for your own good, yes," said Uther. "But it seems that will not be necessary. With luck you will be a good influence on him and he won't be quite such a clumsy imbecile, going forward."

Arthur took a quick breath. "I know he is only a servant, but that is my soulmate you are calling a clumsy imbecile." When Uther narrowed his eyes at him, Arthur quickly went on, "He did save my life recently, Father. The privilege of calling him out on his stupidity should be mine alone."

Uther's lips thinned, but then he glanced over at Merlin again, and huffed in wry amusement. "Yes, I suppose you would want to protect him as he has protected you. Just don't do anything foolish like appoint him to your council, or any other such nonsense."

"I've no intention of doing so," said Arthur, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Merlin had saved his life multiple times and had already made him a better person. He knew that, just from the way that Morgana and Gwen looked at him. Arthur already relied on the other man's advice, and that would certainly not change, going forward. If it were a nobleman who had saved his life, he would certainly have been rewarded in some way. Merlin deserved more than to be regarded as simply the prince's manservant.

Arthur could keep that promise for as long as Uther remained king, but someday, Merlin would experience a rather abrupt rise in station.

* * *

 

Eventually the dinner ended, the talk turning finally, mercifully, to other things, and Arthur and Merlin were able to leave. Arthur could feel Merlin's relief that they'd both survived, and was sure Merlin could feel the same thing coming from him.

"Does he always affect you like that?" asked Merlin, once they were safely in Arthur's chambers.

"Couldn't you tell before?" countered Arthur.

Merlin just huffed, letting Arthur feel his rueful acknowledgment, and set to lighting the candles throughout the room. "Would he really have sent me away, do you think?"

"He would have tried," said Arthur. "I think he would have regretted it."

"Morgana would never have let him hear the end of it, I bet."

"And I would have gone after you." The words surprised Arthur, yet he knew they were true as soon as he said them. "He would have lost me, over you."

"Arthur, no." Merlin turned to him, eyes wide. "Camelot needs you. If anything happens to me—if your father changes his mind—"

"I don't _care_ ," said Arthur, then he sucked in a breath at the admission. "I don't care," he said again, softly. "If I am to be Camelot's king, then I need to have you by my side. If you are not there, then I… would not be an effective ruler," he finished lamely.

Merlin, of course, felt exactly what Arthur really meant, but to Arthur's eternal gratitude, he only said, "I would miss you, too. And anyway, once you were king, I could come back." He knelt before the hearth and began to uncover last night's embers.

"Can you do that the other way?" Arthur heard himself ask.

"Other way." Merlin frowned up at him before comprehension lit his face. Arthur could feel his sudden shyness, as well as his pleasure at being asked. He let Arthur see his eyes flash gold, and Arthur felt the tingle down his heart line as he whispered a word that Arthur didn't understand, holding a hand out toward the stacked wood in the fireplace. Immediately a merry little flame sprang to life, licking at the wood enthusiastically.

Arthur held his hand out to help Merlin to his feet, and didn't let go when the other man stood before him. Their heart lines touched, and Arthur sank into the feeling of knowing and being known by someone who would never betray his trust.

He had avoided it before now, not wanting things to be awkward between them, not knowing why he wanted what he did, not sure how Merlin would take it since he didn't crave such things; now, however, with the gold fading from Merlin's eyes and the knowledge that they were safe for the time being, Arthur couldn't help it any longer. He pressed his lips tentatively to Merlin's, just for a moment, then closed his eyes and leaned forward, just a little, just until their foreheads touched.

Their breath mingled as they both sighed in contentment. Arthur was about to ask if this was all right when he felt Merlin's free hand come up and card through the hair at the back of his neck. He sighed again, feeling his shoulders drop as the last of the day's tensions ebbed away.

"I've dreamed of this," said Merlin softly. "But I never thought I could have it."

"I never dreamed," admitted Arthur. "Never thought it would be possible."

"And here we are."

"Here we are."

Merlin leaned in a little further and rubbed his cheek softly, so softly, against Arthur's own. "I hope it's enough. Hope _I'm_ enough _._ "

"It is," said Arthur. "You are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


	15. Five Years Later

Five years later

* * *

Arthur stood in front of the mirror, looking himself in the eye as Merlin fussed around him, tugging his cloak into place just so, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, and adjusting his collar. It was soothing, not that he'd ever admit it aloud—not that he'd need to, since Merlin could feel it through their bond.

"It's all right to be nervous," his soulmate said.

"I'm not nervous."

"Keep telling yourself that." And perhaps Arthur was, a little, but there were so many other things he felt more. Grief for his father's death, for one. Guilt that he hadn't been able to save him. Naturally, Merlin could sense that as well. "It wasn't your fault."

"I know." Logically, he did know. It was only the truth. Uther had died saving Arthur's life from the assassin. There had been nothing anyone could do; the guards outside their corridor had been killed, and Arthur, wounded himself, was in no condition to run or call for help. Instead he could only hold Uther as the man bled, and brought a hand up to his cheek, and whispered, "It was worth it; you were worth it," before he succumbed. Merlin, thanks to their soulmate bond, had noticed Arthur's distress and come running, but by then it had already been too late for the king. "I know," Arthur said again. "I only wish there were something I could have done."

"You lived, which was what he wanted," said Merlin. "And now you will be king, which he prepared you for over your entire life."

"And the first thing I will do is erase his legacy," said Arthur.

"He definitely had his flaws," countered Merlin, "but he made Camelot a strong kingdom, and you will make it even stronger. That doesn't erase his legacy. It will undo his mistakes."

"I hope you're right," said Arthur. He could feel Merlin's faith, in the space behind his heart, and it was a comfort that he could not help but lean into. As Merlin reached up to smooth his hair one last time, Arthur shut his eyes and leaned into that, too. "God, I love you."

Even after five years, the words still caused a happy glow in Merlin, which Arthur could feel and revel in, knowing that he'd caused it. "And I love you," he responded, leaning forward to press his lips to Arthur's. Once, twice, and then for the third he kissed Arthur on his brow, caressing the shell of his ear with his fingertips. "Now, today, you become what you were born to be."

"I was born to be yours," Arthur demurred.

"And you are that, always," Merlin reassured him. "But you are also Camelot's, and today at least I will be forced to share you with all the people in all the land."

Arthur smiled. "Afterward, however, I will be only yours again."

There was a tinge of sadness in the space behind his heart, even though Merlin smiled too. "Mostly mine."

* * *

 

Afterward, Arthur remembered almost nothing of the ceremony that made him king. He spoke the correct words in the correct places, knelt when and where he was supposed to, and closed his eyes as he felt the weight of the gold ceremonial crown settle into place. What he did remember was the feel of Merlin's love and pride, filling him utterly until he thought he might burst with it, until there was no room for nerves or trepidation at the thought of the responsibility now vested in him.

 _Long live the king_ , the people chanted, and it seemed to Arthur that Merlin's voice was loudest of all. He looked out over the assembled populace, and thought to himself, _Mine. Mine to protect, and mine to cherish. I will serve you as you have served me._

His eyes fell on Merlin, and he nodded, once, regally. Merlin answered the nod with reverence.

* * *

 

"You have something planned," he said to Arthur later, as he helped the new king out of his coronation robes and into something more appropriate for the feasting that would follow.

"I have a lot of things planned," said Arthur, smiling as he felt Merlin's annoyance. It was harder to get a rise out of one another, as soulmates, when they each could feel the fondness behind their usual jibes and banter, and there was a certain satisfaction that Arthur couldn't help but feel when he finally succeeded. Maybe there was still a bit of the bully in him, but mostly it was a game between them, to see how far he could push his soulmate before Merlin would push back. And he always did push back, giving as good as he got, so that was all right.

"I know you're planning to make changes to the laws against magic, and that you're announcing it tonight," mused Merlin. "Could it be you've made a decision on whether or not to betroth to Mithian?"

"Not quite, no."

"Why not? She's kind, intelligent, and has a soulmate of her own, so she'd be understanding about us."

Arthur turned to look Merlin in the eye. "It baffles me that you have literally no envy where she's concerned. I can feel it. How can you be so…"

"Calm about it?"

"Yes."

Merlin shrugged. "I love you, but I'll always share with you with Camelot. I knew that even before we took hands for the first time. For the good of Camelot, you need a queen and heirs. Mithian would be a good queen."

"Gwen would have made a good queen."

"She might have, but once she found Lancelot and they took hands, that was it for her. I can't imagine her being willing to bear children for anyone else. No offense, to either of you."

"And you think Mithian will?"

Merlin stepped over to the table and reached for Arthur's comb. "I did a little discreet asking around, when she was here last with her entourage. Her heart line was blue before she and Eloise met. And in addition to that, she's a princess. Gwen might have had a hard time putting the kingdom ahead of her desire for Lancelot; Mithian, on the other hand, has been trained for that eventuality her entire life, same as you have."

Arthur sat and let Merlin run the comb through his hair. "I've already thought of those things," he said, "and you and I have talked about it; and yes, I do plan to betroth to her. But I don't intend to announce it until the official period of mourning for Father has passed." He shut his eyes against the pang of grief; Merlin, feeling it as he always did, stopped fussing with Arthur's hair and pulled him forward into an embrace. Arthur rested his head against Merlin's stomach and just breathed in the other man's scent, swallowing back the tears that threatened. Merlin had already held him more than once while he'd wept in private, but he couldn't afford to attend his own coronation feast looking like a haggard wreck. After a deep breath, he asked, "Are you sure you're not jealous?"

Merlin kissed the top of his head. "You don't fancy men, even if you love me," he said. "It's not fair to you to ask you to be celibate for your entire life, just because you were saddled with me as a soulmate."

Arthur looked up, frowning. "I told you, I was willing to try—"

"I know, and I'm grateful, truly. It's a big gesture to make, and I appreciate it. But I don't _need_ sex. You do. Mithian can give you something I can't."

"Mithian—"

"Be honest, Arthur." Merlin raised an eyebrow in a gesture he had to have learned from Gaius. "Would you really feel satisfied sleeping with someone only because you felt you had to, and then have them respond with, 'oh, yes, that was nice, I suppose, we could go again if you feel you must', and _not_ feel rejected on some level?"

Arthur snorted a little laugh and shook his head. "Somehow I doubt you'd really say that."

He could feel Merlin's amusement in response. "No, probably not," he admitted, "but…" His amusement faded to a kind of slow, aching regret. "Maybe we will someday. I wouldn't mind giving it a try, you know that. I'm sure it would be nice. But we don't _have_ to, you'll never _have_ to. What you give me already is enough. The kisses; the way you hold me, here in your chambers; the way you listen. The way I can feel you, in my heart. The way I'm never alone anymore. It's enough. More than I ever expected, if I'm being completely honest." He ran his fingers through Arthur's hair, mussing what he had just combed a moment ago. "I'm only sorry that what I have isn't enough for you."

"Hey, none of that." Arthur stood, lacing his fingers behind Merlin's neck and forcing the other man to look him in the eye. "Five years, Merlin. We've been together for five years, hiding the true depth of our bond from my father and nearly everyone else, and you still think that you aren't enough for me? You've made me a better person just for _being_ here. I'm the one who hasn't given you what you deserve, keeping you behind closed doors like this."

"That was your father's fault, not yours," began Merlin, but Arthur was already shaking his head.

"And it ends today. You asked before what I was planning. It's a surprise, for you. Or, it was meant to be."

Merlin narrowed his eyes, looking at Arthur sideways. "What have you got in mind?" he asked warily.

"I'll need a magical adviser, to help me research how things used to be in Camelot. How the laws work in other kingdoms where magic was never banned. I mean to name you to the position."

Merlin's jaw dropped for a second, but Arthur knew he wouldn't keep silent for long. "Wha—Arthur—you… you can't, I'm not—"

"You're the perfect person for the job," said Arthur.

"No, I'm really not—"

"You are," he insisted. "You've been researching in the archives already with Geoffrey, I know you have. And I thought of naming you Court Sorcerer, but I didn't think you'd want to be the focus of so much attention."

"You're damn right I don't want it! And you can't very well have a Court Sorcerer while magic is still outlawed."

"I know. Plus… don't take this the wrong way, but there are things about life at court that you've never learned, and I don't think you'd abide by all the unwritten rules of how to behave even if you knew them all."

"Never mind that my job is to protect you, and I can do that best if no one else really knows what I can do."

"I thought of that as well," Arthur assured him. "That's why I intend to name Morgana Court Sorcerer. She deserves recognition and a position at court other than 'ward', which really isn't a position of power at all. It's even better than naming her a princess, because she'll have real influence this way, and I can't imagine her being satisfied with being only a marriage pawn as she would if she were a princess. And since she's of noble birth, no one will be able to object. Or at least, not as much as if I named a commoner to the position. They're already going to have a conniption over my knighting commoners, as it is."

"But you still can't name her immediately," said Merlin. "Not while the laws are still in place."

"Which is why I'll be sending her to the druids," replied Arthur. "She can learn magic from them, get her dreams under control, and serve as a diplomatic envoy all at the same time."

"And me? What does being adviser mean for me?"

"It means you'll be in a better position to hear the sorts of gossip that people whisper when they're plotting to kill me or overthrow the kingdom," said Arthur. "And in a better position to garner enough allies to do something about it, rather than always being forced to work alone in the shadows."

"I don't really mind working in the shadows," said Merlin. "I just said it's best if no one really knows what I can do."

"True, but it'll be better for you, easier for you to do everything you do, if the nobles know that you have my ear and my respect. If they look at you as a valued member of my council, as one of my most trusted inner circle, rather than dismissing you as a mere servant." Arthur smiled. "If nothing else, you'll be a lot less likely to be thrown into the dungeons every time you're found poking about where you shouldn't be."

Merlin mulled the idea over, smoothing Arthur's hair and reaching for the jewelry laid out on the table beside them. "I suppose you have a point," he said, draping the heavy plaque necklace over Arthur's shoulders and polishing the pendant with his sleeve, so it gleamed just so. "But won't that force me from your side? Won't people expect me to no longer dress you, bring your meals, accompany you on hunts, and all that?"

"Hmm. Well, they'll also know that we're soulmates," he pointed out. "After tonight, I intend that you will no longer be my secret. Even if you've been something of an open secret, that will still end tonight."

Merlin didn't really say anything after that, but the glow of happiness that Arthur felt behind his heart was thanks enough.

* * *

 

As king, Arthur needed to remain for the entirety of the feast, but he now had the prerogative to retire as early as he wanted after the last dessert had been brought forth; for form's sake, he stayed to accept congratulations from various nobles and visiting dignitaries, and took a few turns on the dance floor, but once it was clear that the populace's attention was more on the wine and music than on him, he bowed to the last lady and caught Merlin's eye, then made his way to his chambers. The halls were pleasantly cool and quiet after the noise and press of bodies in the feast hall.

"You've something up your sleeve," he said, glancing at his soulmate out of the corner of his eye.

"Not really," insisted Merlin. "Just a little surprise I thought you might like. Unless you're too tired."

"It's been a long day," admitted Arthur, "but as long as I don't have to kiss up to any more dignitaries or council elders…"

"You're king, you shouldn't have to kiss up to anyone."

Arthur chuckled. "I'm afraid that's not how being king works."

Merlin nodded sagely. "And this is why you wear the crown and I fetch the horses. You know these things."

"Did I just hear you admit that I'm always right?"

"Pssh. _Hardly._ "

"No no, I think you did."

"And I think you're delusional."

They were still elbowing one another and laughing when Merlin opened the door to his chambers, to reveal Gwaine and Percival, Gwen and Lancelot, Leon, and Elyan, in their shirtsleeves and passing around a jug of wine, giggling into their cups in a way that suggested that they'd gotten rather an early start. Given that the feast had gone on for hours before Arthur had been able to take his leave, that was entirely likely. Morgana was there as well, with one of the new knight-hopefuls whose name Arthur had not yet learned. To his astonishment, his sister was sitting on the younger man's lap, nuzzling into his hair while he blushed, looking pleased but also as though he wasn't quite sure what he was doing there.

They all looked up as the door opened, and cheered as Arthur and Merlin stepped into the room. "Long live the Princess," said Gwaine, spilling a bit of wine as he lifted his cup high.

"Ah. Hello," said Arthur dryly, and everyone laughed. "Morgana, what are you doing?"

"I have someone to introduce to you, brother," she said, resting her head against the boy's and beaming in a way that she hadn't in years. She held up her left hand, and Arthur saw that the red heart line there had turned silver. "Do you remember ages ago, when we helped that young druid boy escape Camelot when Uther wanted to make an example of him?"

Arthur could feel his jaw drop. "You're joking," he said, trying not to stare and failing. "It—Mordred, wasn't it?" he asked, wracking his brain for the memory.

The younger man beamed shyly at him. "I confess, I didn't think you would remember. It's been a long time, my lord."

"But… you're a druid, _and_ one of my knight-hopefuls?"

Mordred's face fell, and now he looked a little worried. "Is that a problem?"

"No, not at—I thought the druids were a peaceful people," said Arthur, ducking his head absently as Merlin removed his circlet and necklace. He could feel his soulmate's calm and good mood through their bond, and it soothed him. "It's only that I wouldn't have expected one of your people to fight at all, much less try for a position among Camelot's most elite warriors."

Mordred shrugged, ducking his head shyly. "I wanted to protect my people, my lord," he began, but Morgana shushed him.

"The two of you are to be brothers," she said. "Call him Arthur."

"Ah. Arthur, then. There are a few of us who do fight. We do not go to war, but we do try to defend our people at need. Uther's men were not the only threat to our way of life, after all." He offered a tentative smile. "And then some of our elders thought it might be a good time to send an envoy to Camelot, when they learned that Uther's time had come. I am sorry for your loss, my lor—Arthur," he added. "However we might have felt about him, I know he was your father."

"Thank you, Mordred," Arthur replied, still bemused. "And you're really Morgana's soulmate?"

"We discovered it yesterday," said Morgana. "We didn't want to disrupt your coronation with the news, so we thought we'd wait until things settled down a bit to announce it."

Arthur nodded. "Thank you for telling me. And congratulations, Morgana."

"I've dreamed of him," she said contentedly. "I was beginning to lose patience that he would come."

The others laughed, and toasted the happy couple as Mordred blushed again, but pulled Morgana closer on his lap.

"Well, now that we've established that diplomatic relations with the druids will go even more smoothly than anticipated, what else are we celebrating?" asked Merlin, unbuttoning Arthur's heavy velvet doublet.

"How about the fact that you have magic?" asked Percival.

"I can't believe you've kept it secret all this time," added Leon. "Though I understand why you did."

"Uther would have killed us both," said Morgana. She sighed, and if there was any bitterness to her words, Arthur thought she at least was courteous enough to try and hide it for his sake.

"There were a few people who knew," admitted Merlin, glancing at Lancelot. "I'm only sorry I had to lie to the rest of you."

"But you _did_ have to, didn't you," said Gwaine, not really asking. He hooked a chair with his foot and shoved it toward Arthur, who sat and pulled Merlin onto his lap as well. Of the paired soulmates, only Gwaine and Percival weren't sharing a seat. "Same as you had to pretend to be only heart-friends when the rest of us knew better."

Arthur sighed. "My father was… misguided sometimes," he said, but Gwaine waved that away.

"True or not, we're not here to talk about him. We're here to celebrate with you, Arthur. And to pledge ourselves to you, again."

"You already did that," protested Arthur.

This time it was Lancelot who shook his head. "You established the Round Table today, and acknowledged us as part of it, in full ceremony as one of your first acts as king, and we're grateful; but this, now, is for you. Not for the populace and the nobles. We're not sending a message to Camelot that things will be different with you on the throne. We're only promising to stand by your side, as faithfully as Merlin has, and to be your friends as well as your men-at-arms."

And this was the surprise that Merlin had arranged. Arthur swallowed, unable to find words for a moment.

"I know what Uther told you," said Morgana softly. "That the burden of the crown is a lonely one. That trust is a luxury you can't afford, if you want to keep your kingdom. But I think you know better than that."

"I think that I can't do this alone, and my father never understood that. Or he saw it as a weakness," said Arthur quietly. "Things _will_ be different."

"And we'll be by your side for all of it," said Merlin. He was trailing his fingers through the hair at the nape of Arthur's neck, making him shiver. Arthur looked down at the silver mark on his hand, and felt Merlin's love and pride in the space behind his heart.

"I know you will," he said, and closed his eyes, leaning into the sensation. "I know you will."

Arthur didn't have Morgana's gift, to see the future, but he had Merlin, and Merlin's love, and the loyalty of truly good men. All he could do from here forward was strive to be the sort of man who deserved all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for reading; have a present from me. Blessed holidays to you all.


End file.
